Don't Panic
by Gene Kelly
Summary: Love is not a victory march. It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah. FIN.
1. Back By Popular Demand

Disclaimer: You should know this by now.

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**A/N:** Ahhh it feels great to be back. And a little strange that WILAY has finally ended. But I read all your reviews and your responses to my little poll. And then I decided to pull a George Lucas and write a sequel to WILAY. Yes, you've read it right, this is the first chapter to the sequel of WILAY, making my little F/A romances a trilogy! Muhaha. You guys can't get rid of me THAT easy. Haha. Anyway, here's a little background:

This diary takes place a few years after the end of Angelina's 7th year. Although she and Fred were together at the end of WILAY, they broke up during Angie's college years (for reasons that will be later explained). She ended up going to Manchester, her dream school and played Qudditich. The war brokeout sometime between the end of her freshman year and sophmore year of college and ended just around the beginning of her first entry.

I'll leave everything at that, because I don't want to give away anything...Expect this diary to be a bit more grown-up than the last few, with a shuffling of the beloved F/A pairing and a few surprises along the way. Think Bridget Jones meets Jessica Darling (the heroine of Megan Mccafferty's novels) meets a mature Georgia Nicholson.

**R&R if you want more!**

Always,

Gene

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_I can't imagine all the people that you know_

_And the places that you go_

_When the lights are turned down low_

_And I don't understand_

_All the things you've seen_

_But I'm slipping in between_

_You and your big dreams_

_**It's always you**_

_And my big dreams_ -Something Corporate

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**May 1**

**The Loft**

**Central (Wizard) London**

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**Fact:** This is the sad state of my pathetic and utterly boring life.

Everyone and their brothers are out celebrating the end of The Second War and I'm cooped up in my dusty flat, scribbling my narcissistic laments into an overpriced diary. Alicia invited me to the shindig at her newly renovated flat, which she also happens to share with George Weasley, the boy she's been with practically since birth.

It would have been the perfect excuse to get completely smashed from a cheap bottle of Fire Whiskey, while pretending to be remotely at ease. I mean, it's not like my social calendar is filled to the brim.

In reality, it's glowing with naked absence. I debated the issue and then realized there was no way in hell that I'd be abandoning the soft comfort of my 500 count bed sheets and the gallon carton of cookie dough ice cream in the freezer.

This logic isn't logical at all, but points to the underlying truth that I am **both** an idiot and a coward. Once I started the university, I soon discovered that I'd simply shed the habit of recording my cringe-worthy philosophies on life, romance and the opposite sex.

I mean, I was Angelina Johnson, university student and Quidditch player. I was a big girl now. Why did I need a pseudo dosage of imitation therapy?

However, old habits die hard. I was strolling past a calligraphy store the other day, inwardly moaning about my non-existent love life, when a pink and purple nightmare snagged my short attention. Yes, yes, I know the thing is a visual misdemeanor, but something appeared to latch onto my affections.

The blasted book was wailing my name, _Angelina! Angelina!_ My tea party with Lady Misery took a rain check, as I was entranced by this silent scream. I couldn't very well ignore its feeble cries of distress, now could I?

Thus, I waltzed into the store, plucked the diary from the window display and promptly marched to the register. The cashier, some spotty pre-teen with a terrible lazy eye, took his sweet time ringing up my purchase and I thought my poor head would start to erupt in a series of destructive seizures. I mean, what would happen if someone from Hogwarts walked in and saw me, buying a furry contraption of parchment? I wouldn't hear the end of it, no doubt. Or what if Fr-

No, scratch that thought. See, this is WHY I need a diary in the first place. To get rid of all the garbage that festers in my head. If I keep everything bottled up, I'm guaranteed an eventual ticket to St. Mungo's. And let me tell you, a straight jacket isn't the most flattering outfit.

I haven't been this confused and bamboozled since….well, actually I've always been floating through one haze of choking confusion. But lately, I'm discovering that this psychological warfare is taking on a more violent edge. Watching _Pride and Prejudice_ for the 210th time _(God, watching Colin Firth gracefully glide out of the water, with a soaking wet shirt can be a very effective distraction)_, is not going to cure my apparent state of mental unrest.

During my Hogwarts days, I used to keep journals constantly. I'd always be scribbling in them like a loon, sometimes hesitating to start a homework assignment, because I felt this powerful urge to rant and rave to an inanimate object.

Merlin. No wonder why I'm so weird.

Anyway. Traveling down the rocky road of Memory Lane, I filled these journals with the most trivial and sappy tragedies, from exaggerated moments of adolescent embarrassment, to daydreams and simple-minded hypotheses about F-

ARGGHHHH.

THIS NEEDS TO STOP.

Ok, so, steering away from He-Who-Shall-Never-Be-Named _(and no, I'm not talking about the late Voldy)_.

I stopped writing in them when I got to college. After….we broke up….Right before the war officially started. Writing in a diary was something from the past, a relic of youthful susceptibility.

As I helplessly viewed friends and family willingly march into the demonic arms of killing curses and Death Eaters, I knew it was time to _really_ grow up. I helplessly witnessed death and destruction strangle the throat of security and safety, defacing the beauty of life with the exaggerated horrors of decay and finality.

I watched as my older brother; my rock, my pillar, brush the cold lips of the Grim Reaper and somehow, make it out alive. My world shattered, relationships were broken and I was left broken. Childhood and Hogwarts melted into afterthoughts, like colorless memories that rush back after a blackout. Happiness became a definition, rather than an emotion.

So the diary had to go.

I was a fresh-faced nineteen year old then, thinking that my biggest concern was matching my manicure to my high heels.

Now I'm twenty-five, with a weathered face and weary eyes, finally replacing fickle hope with stalwart relief, yet still knowing….feeling….that a large part of me is still missing. And I'm too damn stubborn to admit the reason.

And if you have been successful in following my extremely long-winded and complicated tyrant of words, then I applaud you.

Basically, my anti-social favoritism is not the direct result of outside circumstances. Rather, I'm choosing to be alone, because I'm too afraid to pop on over to Alicia's…I'm terrified of facing him again.

After everything that's happened, all the words that were never spoken, the malicious attacks that were fired….I don't know if what's left of me is ready to put a flimsy patch over our self-induced gun-shot wounds.

I still need him. Probably more than ever. But I've lied to myself so many times, that I cling to the idea of stability. A piece of me has always loathed depending on others; the disappointment of the disintegration of this trust is unbearable. And I let my guard down with him. Now I'm finally paying the price.

So here I am, a single twenty something witch, living in the bustling and beautiful city of London. And instead of going out and drinking myself silly, like most normal people of this age bracket, I'm loafing around in ratty pajamas, listening to my old CD's, in lame attempts to recapture the awkward magic of that Purgatory-mimicking event, otherwise known as adolescence. I should be out around the town, laughing with Alicia and Katie and Lee and the rest of my friends.

But I've chosen to punish myself, because I can't stand the thought of bumping into him. Because I know once I look up into those eyes, I'm just going to fall all over again. Except this time, I've lost the armor to break my impact.

Here I go again, rambling with poetic glitter and unnecessary, literary jazz. I think that's a sign that I'm effectively journeying back to the days when I was only Young And Very Confused, rather than my present state of Borderline Young And Borderline Insane.

GAHHHH.

Great, now Mrs. Parker is throwing her bowling shoes against the wall, because she thinks I'm playing my music at an inappropriately high volume. Well, she can eat my shorts.

Ok, now she's threatening to bring up the landlord. Maybe I'll turn it down a notch.

Maybe if I show up at Alicia's for like 2.5 seconds, then I'll evade any chances of running into Mr. Nameless.

….On second thought, I prefer the neatly sculpted cave of my Ralph Lauren sheets, rather than smearing on some makeup and making a painful appearance at the party.

It's like that quote Billy Shakespeare said…something about avoiding the slings and arrows of fate? Or what not?

I don't know the exact phrasing, but I never thought I'd live to see the day that I'd be in a state of taking sincere advice from a rotting, dead bloke.

Fact: I am making Bridget Jones look like a Super Model. Eat your heart out, Jones.

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**May 2**

**The Loft (Sadly)**

**Central (Wizard) London**

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_Dear Ms. Angelina Johnson,_

_You are cordially invited to attend the matrimonial ceremony of Miss. Katie Bell and Mr. Lee Jordan. The beloved event will commence at promptly 3 PM, June 20th. Please RSVP in the upcoming weeks as to secure your place as a bridesmaid._

_Sincerely Yours,_

_Katie Bell and Lee Jordan_

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**AHHHHHH. SQUEEEE13843849869669! **I can't believe it. Katie and Lee are finally getting married! Those two are like Romeo & Juliet...minus the messy death scenes. They give me a small yet needed dosage of optimistic bliss to cleanse my naturally pessamistic nature.

I think to myself...if people like Katie and Lee can find each other and stay together, then maybe a nut case like me has a teeny chance. Then again, the last time _I_ went on a date, in truly despicable attempts to erase a certain ginger-haired Beater from my head, the Ewan McGregor look alike turned out to favor his own revolting BO than a stick of deodorant.

Nasty.

Anyway, let's forget about my disasterous tales. Kates and Lee are meant for each other. They've been engaged since the end of Katie's 7th year, but they wanted to wait until the war was over. I was genuinely excited for about 5 minutes, when I was slapped with the devious hand of reality.

If Lee and Kates are tying the knot, then George will show up. And if George shows up, then…YOU KNOW WHO will pop up like a twitching gopher.

I'm starting to hyperventilate. I can just see the headlines now: YOUNG GIRL DIES OF HEART ATTACK IN HER OWN ROOM.

You know, the more I tell myself that I'm all right, the more things get worse. I am a psychologist's wet dream. Honestly, I just can't face him. Seeing as how the last time I saw him, I heaved a five pound chocolate cake at his flaming red hair, I don't think our little reunion would be pleasant. Our relationship had always been stormy, from the very first day he made my acquaintance by playing a prank on me.

But somehow…I still can't bring myself to hate him…I wonder, do people only have one true love? And once that happens, you can never experience anything like it? Gosh, I sure hope not. If so, then my time has been expired. I wonder what he's been up to.

I know the boys have opened up a few other stores, although the original joke shop still stands in Hogsmeade. Apparently, the Weasley Twins are rolling in the dough. Not like that matters to me. I can guarantee that if the bloke was living out of a paper bag on the side of the road and begging for sickles, I'd STILL fall for him. I'm such a sod.

Breathe Angie, Breathe. I can't very well reject Kate's invitation, now can I? Especially since she's been one of my best mates since Hogwarts. But I really, really, really DON'T want to crash into F-R-E-D.

As my Mum would say, I'm stuck in between a rock and a hard place with a broken leg. Or was it a broken wheelchair? I don't know. She's always been a little off her rocker, since she's been somewhat tainted by primary school children.

Oh bugger. Should I floo Alicia and vent? But she's probably snogging George in a dark corner. And she's probably still ticked off that I didn't make an appearance at her party. But she's always good with advice.

AHHH.

Must locate that box of double chocolate chip cookies I bought last week. Then a full-blasting of Aretha Franklin should commence.

Must. Find. Cookies!


	2. In Too Deep

**A/N: **Thank you for all your reviews!

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**May 5 **

**Ministry Of Magic**

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My brother, Holden, dropped by this afternoon. He claims that he wanted to "talk to me," but I think this was a weak cover-up to eat the entire contents of my refrigerator. Although I'm glad Holden is quickly recovering from the mental aftermath of The War, he has not managed to realize I'm **not** seventeen anymore. He thinks that because he's three years older, he has the all the answers to life's problems. 

I was in a rush for work, so his presence created additional stress to my already hypersensitive nerves. I flitted about the kitchen, shoving my heels onto my feet and magically shoving random food into a paper bag, for that day's lunch.

Holden, looking as though he'd just fallen out of bed, worked his way through a box of Krispy Kremes, witnessing my neurotic theatrics. Somehow or another, we started talking about the starting roster of the Manchester United and then Kates and Lee's wedding. Don't ask me how, but he's a master at that sort of trickery.

"So, let me get this straight. You're dying to go to Katie's wedding. Yet you're scared you're going to run into that Weasley kid," he recapped.

I frowned, rummaging through a pile of papers on the countertop, attempting to locate the ten page report I had feverishly finished the previous night. After majoring in Criminal Justice at Manchester and graduating with honors, I desperately wanted to play professional Quidditich.

I had tried out for a few teams, but sadly was not recruited due to "lack of experience." Whatever that means. Alas, I was forced to get a day job and make some real money. I didn't want to add "homeless" to my lengthy list of negative attributes. Anyway, my Dad pulled some strings and I landed a job at the Ministry.

I work in the Department of Minor Misdemeanors and Wizardly Infractions. In simplistic terms, I file a lot of papers, review a bunch of cases concerning petty crimes (i.e. stealing, local burglaries, etc) and make endless pots of coffee for my Department Head.

However, a secure place of employment has not thwarted my dreams of Quidditich fame and glory. I landed a try-out with Arsenal, England's professional Qudditich team; number two in the national division league. The date is June 22nd, a few days after Katie's wedding. I'm more so anxious than downright nervous; I've been training about 3-4 times a week, if work allows.

Although Holden's a decent player, he's definitely too relaxed and soft to really consider a challenging training partner. So, I dropped a note to Hogwart's MostPsychotic Quidditich Captain _(Ever)_, Oliver Wood, and requested his excellent teaching skills. He gladly accepted and I've been popping over to his house for practice sessions. Ollie bought a house in the country, so he would have a lot of acres for a Quidditich pitch.

He proudly told me that he tries to practice at least 4 hours a day, whether it be running drills or creating new defensive and offensive tactics for his team, Puddlemere United Reserve.

I smiled, patted his shoulder and serenely said, "You really need a girlfriend."

He twisted his face into sour disagreement, and then started spewing complaints about his last girlfriend, a sports journalist named Jade. Apparently, Ollie still doesn't understand the reasons to their messy breakup; Oliver forget their 6 month anniversary due to a coinciding semi-finals tournament.

Nice to know some things never change.

My back was turned away from Holden, but I could practically feel the warmth of his smug smirk.

"Correct. And would you stop calling him _that Weasley kid._ You know his name," I tensely ordered.

Holden chuckled, spraying bits of chocolate éclair on the table.

"Lina, you're absolutely nutters. Last time I talked to you, Fred was a…what was it? Oh yes, he was an _immature git_, who didn't have the heart or brain power to think about anyone but his fat-headed self."

I whipped around, glaring. All right, maybe I _had_ insulted Fred. But couldn't he tell I was undergoing extreme emotional turmoil? You can't coincidentally bump into your ex-boyfriend and pretend that the situation isn't awkward enough to make your skin itch.

"First of all, I didn't call him a git. I called him a wanker. Second of all, I had just thrown a ten pound chocolate cake at his face. And finally, wankers have names too, you know."

I didn't know why I was defending Fred. He didn't even deserve a fair trial. Holden considerably perked up at the mere mention of cake.

"Cake? Why'd you go and waste a nice cake on that poor sod?" he teased, though sincerely curious.

His rich, cappuccino colored eyes flickered with brotherly affection, though at the moment, I found it downright annoying.

I sighed, hoping to block out the oncoming flood of memories. I could still smell the misty evening and drink in the sight of the half-moon painted against the startling blackness of the sky.

We'd been young and foolish back then, running past the possibilities of the present and searching, greedily grasping for the idealistic rendezvous of the hazy future. The war threatened to smash through our glass surface; _The Daily Prophet_ was usually smeared with gory headlines about startled victims, incinerated by Death Eaters.

The entire wizard community was hanging by their teeth and nails, forcing fake smiles of confidence, when their initial reaction was to lock themselves in their houses and bolt the doors. And then, of course, there was Fred.

Though his great escape from Hogwarts had reformed his appetite for courting adventure, he still believed that his imperceptible, flimsy cape of adolescent invincibility was enough to protect him from the dangers of the real world. It was the beginning of sophomore year and I thought I possessed all the answers.

In all actuality, the only thing I had were a bunch of pretentious assumptions. The candles burned with vengeance on the buttery plane of my birthday cake. I was turning 21 and would finally be considered an adult; yet I clung to the relics of my youth, pretending to flaunt wisdom like a toddler indulges in their mother's wardrobe and favorite lipstick.

Everything had been fine, up until the breaking point. Fred planned a surprise party at his flat. Presents were exchanged, laughs floated above the chatter of old friends and old acquaintances, kisses were stolen when the audience wasn't looking. And I felt like I was sixteen again, falling in love with Fred Weasley for the first time.

Around midnight, the party settled to a slow broil and one by one, the guests left, taking their bubbly grins and conversational phrases. We were cleaning up, when our discourse ventured into unspoken territory. Fred boldly stated that in three weeks, he would be packing up and heading out to basic training.

In three weeks, Fred was going to officially join the war.

I honestly felt like I had been pummeled by a metal baseball bat. He had failed to inform me of his decision and I was already walking a dangerously small tightrope. Holden was gallivanting around the English countryside, heartily engaged in the war effort. His letters were far and few; my parents donned shaky hands to display their anxiety. The world was collapsing, devoured by flames and Fred had suddenly decided to throw himself into the fire.

Naturally, we got into a row. Naturally, I said some things I never meant and he issued witty insults that I still haven't forgotten. Trapped in my state of rage, I picked up the remainder of my birthday cake and chucked it at his head.

He ducked and without a word, marched out the door. I didn't bother to make amends the following day; I was content to stew in my malice and spite. However, two more days passed without any word from Fred and I began to get worried. The war was escalating with violent fury; The Ministry was pleading for new volunteers.

That night, like an ode to Guy Fawkes, there was a failed bombing at The Ministry of Magic. Word spread fast; troops were skipping basic training and being immediately sent to the front lines. An alarm sounded in my gut and I knew that I had to apologize to Fred as soon as possible. I popped over to his flat and found out he was gone.

We haven't spoken since.

Our relationship started with a bang; it's no surprise that it ended with a cosmic fulmination.

It hurts to know that I never got the opportunity to explain my reasoning or issue an apology; what's even more painful is to uphold the knowledge that he's still out there, living each day to the fullest, his thoughts of me forlorn and abandoned; cobwebs in the archives of his mind that have been cleaned out with a vacuum.

But I've kept my sentiments to myself; bide them goodnight and secured them in their protective blankets. As far as I know, Fred has never mentioned me or expressed concern about my whereabouts; it's much easier to ignore his existence, than wishing he'd notice mine.

I would have let this spill out, because Merlin knows it was nearly driving me crazy. But Holden only knows the general terms of our breakup; the cut and dry version without the tears and the confusion. So I looked at him and shrugged.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time."

His smirk was swapped for a puzzled line.

Though he didn't say it, I knew he didn't believe me.

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**May 7**

**My Flat**

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All right, so I honestly think I've been blind for the past twenty-three years. 

Went over Oliver's after a short shift at The Ministry and I nearly choked on my own drool.

Let's just say that Oliver's obsession for Quidditich has nicely translated into the dependent language of his arms...

And his abs...

And his legs...

And those shoulders...!

Wait...

**Oh. My. Zeus.**

I have just admitted to fully checking out Oliver Wood's new and improved body like a slab of beef on display.

I think being single has polluted my mind. I need to get a date...and fast. Who knows that I'll say or do next? Maybe this is karma's way of punishing me for rejecting Xander's offer to grab a coffee. I mean, he's a nice bloke and all, but every time he talks, I can't help but notice his teeth.

They resemble husks of California corn growing out of genetically mutated stalks. And that's putting the description in poetic terms.

I almost started to accept, out of sympathy, when I realized that I would have to endure a possible thirty minute interval of being captivated by his jagged bicuspids.

So before Xander could launch into his stint about the wonders of Japanese anime, I quickly declined his proposition, explaining that I had to go visit my Grandmother in St. Mungo's, who had recently gone into cardiac and emotional arrest due to a recent run-in with her childhood phobia; Alaskan penguins.

I threw in some fancy, anatomy terms, due to that recent marathon of _ER_.

Sadly, he totally bought it.

Ah...it's official.

I'm totally going to hell.


	3. Chance Encounters Of The Awkward Kind

**May 10**

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**Ministry of Magic**

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**_My Office_**

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Today has been an awfully slow day. I am ready to tear my hair out, strand by strand, just for the mere possibility of doing something that involves physical action. I have already constructed a handful of paper airplanes, which all have successfully landed in the belly of the trash bin with a dull plop. I tell you, my mind has left me today. I attempted to make a list of all the pro's and cons concerning Fred Weasley. It started to give me a major headache, so I decided to focus on the pro's and cons of asking Oliver Wood to accompany me to the Bell/Jordan wedding. Here's what I ended up with:

PROS:

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_Good abs_

_Loves Qudditch_

_Been mates since Hogwarts_

_Knows when to be serious_

_Attractive_

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CONS:

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…As you can observe, I couldn't really think of any cons. No, I'm not saying that Oliver is perfect, but really, what can I complain about? It's not like I'm asking him to get down on one knee and propose! I mean, he'd been planning to attend the wedding anyway, right? Wouldn't it be so much more convenient if we went together? Spare the shame of arriving dateless to an event that practically promotes interaction with the opposite sex? Am I right or just plain mental? Wait, don't bother to answer that question.

Who the bleeding hell am I kidding?! Oliver will probably show up with some leggy blonde with big teeth and unbelievable anatomical proportions. I will be reduced to hanging around the food and refreshments table, stuffing my twitchy little mouth with all the cakes I can inhale without puking. And naturally, that bastard Fred will pop in, smirking that trademark smirk, his arm lassoed around someone so gorgeous it hurts.

I am seriously like the plague. Some breed of nasty disease that just latches onto everything happy and contaminates it with my vile pollution.

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**May 15**

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**The Flat**

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Ran into Ollie today at this new Quidditch shop that people have been raving about. It's a quaint shop that is truthfully much larger than it looks, with wall to wall shelves loaded with books and guides and brooms and cleaning supplies alike. I decided to pop on over in the morning, expecting less of a mad crowd. Imagine my surprise, when I easily spotted a familiar chestnut head of hair, bobbing up and down between the aisles. I had the weighty suspicion that it was old Ollie way before I spotted his face. He was, of course, checking out the brooms with an almost alarming level of concentration. Sadly, I realized that I was checking him out with almost equal intent.

Being the obnoxious and socially retarded person that I am, I glided right up behind the clueless bloke and aggressively tapped him on the shoulder. Said bloke in question whipped around, expecting a persistence sales associate. However, his grimace easily transformed into pleasant surprise.

"Oy, Angelina! Fancy meeting you here. Come to check out the store? It's been getting stupendous reviews," he amicably wondered.

I smiled, coyly shrugging.

"Possibly. However, I'm surprised that I've run into you, Wood. I thought you'd be chained to your broom, out torturing yourself on the pitch. What's wrong? Finally realized that you don't have a life?" I fondly teased.

He rolled his eyes, though he knew I was just messing around. He cracked a grin, willing to take the bait.

"So being Captain during your Hogwarts years doesn't count for anything? Don't single me out, Johnson. You've been just as infected with the fanatic fever as me."

I was about to fire back with some deadpan crack, when I caught myself, as though I'd snagged my bottom lip on a fishing hook. I was FLIRTING with OLIVER WOOD. Oliver Wood, of all the blokes in all of England, in the entire world. I had to go and set my narrow sights on someone, in the past, who thought it perfectly normal to fall asleep with his broom, fervently believing that it would produce success in a future match. I was blindly moving from one psycho (Fred) to the next (Oliver). Or maybe I was the only legitimate psycho, seeing as how I couldn't prevent the growth of my attraction to these obviously off-limits blokes.

So you understand then, once I removed the veils and debunked the smoke machine and smashed all the mirrors, I had to immediately STOP hitting on Wood. I attempted to steer the conversation away from nostalgic snapshots of Hogwarts life and blurted out something about the weather. Oliver peered at me quite queerly, as though he'd downed too many shots and his vision had begun to blur. However, this didn't cause him to turn around and abandon me, due to a sensitive intolerance of incoherent verbal diarrhea. And for this, I am extremely grateful.

After about twenty minutes of poorly constructed small talk, I finally mustered the courage to ask the question. Not THE question, of course, but the other question that has been making my brain run around and around like a drugged-up mice on a wheel.

"So, um, I assume you got an invitation to Katie and Lee's wedding?"

_(Insert me, awkwardly gazing at my feet, too embarrassed to look him directly in the eye)._

He nodded, revealing the hint of a reflective smirk.

"Yeah, got it about a week ago. I can't believe those two are getting hitched. Jesus, Lee went from blowing up toilets to getting married in a matter of years! It's amazing how people can change."

I nodded, knowing that Oliver, for once, was completely right about something that didn't have anything to do with the sheer velocity of a Bludger or the speed of a Quaffle. Scary, indeed.

"Actually, that's quite frightening, in my opinion. But anyway, I was wondering…you wouldn't happen to already have a date for this little shindig, right?"

Before he could even answer, I babbled ahead, perturbed by the minute silence.

"I mean, I can totally understand if you've already asked someone and I didn't mean to be nosey, but I figure, might as well have a partner in crime, right? Well, not in crime, but-"

Before I could sound like more of a fumbling idiot, Oliver held up his hand and chuckled.

"Say no more, Angelina. I think that's a good idea, actually. I didn't really fancy going without a date, but now that I've got some sort of moral support, maybe the whole affair won't be so bad."

Having secured a positive answer, I decided that my next move would be to get the sodding hell out of there, as fast as I could, before I decided to tell him that he had a drool-worthy body or something of the silly sort. It would have been a flawless execution. We said goodbye, promised to chat later, and I was so close to liberation that I could taste it in the corners of my mouth. Alas, just as I turned around and began to walk away, I tripped on a sloppily discarded broom and smashed my face into the floorboards.

Too bad they don't make accident insurance for the physically challenged.

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A/N: After almost a year of writer's block on this story, I am happy to report that the spell has been broken! I would have made this chapter longer, but it's getting late and I just couldn't wait any longer, letting this sit around and collect dust. Don't expect daily or even weekly updates (new semester just started and half my courses are all about writing huge! essays and the like), but DO expect updates! Thank you all for being patient and thank you especially, to the people that kept reminding me that this story should get the attention it so rightly deserves.

All the best,

Gene


	4. Rinse

**May 20**

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**Crenshaw Coffee House**

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I keep thinking to myself. What's the _real_ reason I decided to ask Oliver to the wedding? I mean, obviously, I need a date. On the other hand, it's not like Oliver Wood is the only living wizard in the twenty something age bracket. I'm sure there are plenty of nice, upstanding gentlemen wandering around, just aching for my unique companionship and witty conversation.

On second thought, perhaps I'm just too lazy to go searching for this unbelievable specimen of magical man that would be a suitable and practical date. Lo and behold, I just feel compelled to throw a monkey wrench into the situation.

Went over to Katie's earlier this afternoon. Her flat is alarming messy. You can't walk anywhere without colliding with a box of high heels or a container of invitations. She's in an utter panic, scuttling about like a crab attempting to avoid the boiling pot. It'd be quite amusing, if she wasn't so terribly serious and uptight. I watched from the couch and Katie shuffled about the kitchen, getting two drinks and some snacks.

"So, you're probably going to beat me up for saying this, but you'll never guess who I'm going with to the wedding," I hesitantly baited.

She stopped for a second, rose an eyebrow, and then snatched up two glasses, sloshing with diet soda. She ambled over to me, steadily handing me a glass and then settling next to me. I sipped warily, too concentrated on her upcoming reaction.

"Well, go ahead. Enlighten me. Who's the lucky bloke?" she teased.

I shifted in my seat and then uttered a bubbling laugh, much too sparkling to match my mixed emotions.

"Wood."

I knew I didn't need to say anything more.

Katie automatically yelped with shock.

"Wood? As in _Oliver_ Wood? As in Oliver Wood, our old Quidditch Captain?"

I took a hearty gulp of my drink, rolling my eyes.

"Yes, that Oliver Wood. How many Oliver Woods do we know?" I demanded, already irritated.

Katie allowed the thought to fully register and produce an emotional impact. After a few seconds, she giggled, as if I had shamelessly admitted that I'd made it a habit to light my underwear on fire, whenever boredom nagged my brain. Let me tell you, I almost believed that Katie's reaction was the aftermath to all the stress of planning a wedding. Perhaps it was safe to say that her normal level of lunacy considerably heightened and I shouldn't feel the urge to conjure a white coat. She studied my frightened expression and coolly stole a sip of her soda, failing to choke her laughter before the liquid had slipped down her throat.

"I'm sorry, but you look like you've just admitted something horribly embarrassing. The way you worded your sentence, I thought you were going to tell me something worse than that."

I groaned.

"Kates, what could I possibly say that would be worse?"

"Well, for one, you could tell me that you have some sort of incurable disease and that the doctors will have to amputate your leg. Or that you've gone bankrupt and in order to pay off your staggering debt, you've decided to join the circus and take over the spot of the Bearded Lady. Or-"

"Ok, ok, I get your point! Now, even though the possible situations that you've cited are totally out of the ordinary, let's just focus on my problem," I crassly interrupted.

"Lina, where the bleeding hell is the problem? It's Oliver Wood! I know a lot of girls that would kill to be in your shoes. He may be mad as a hatter, but that's never affected his looks," she bluntly observed.

I laughed.

"Well, most girls don't have to deal with bumping into their ex-boyfriend at a celebration that normally promotes romantic optimism. Most girls don't have to plan how they will avoid said boyfriend, because their messy breakup involved a food fight. And most girls are don't have my rotten luck," I argued.

Katie sighed and placed her drink on the convenient end table.

"Look, Angelina. It was years ago. I know it's been rough, but you've got to move on. You can't keep beating yourself up. Fred may do some dodgy things, but he's still my friend. But more importantly, you're my best friend. No questions asked. And in that case, I'll always be by your side."

I smiled, because I knew I didn't have to say anything more.

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**May 30**

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**Home**

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I can't believe my luck. Oliver sent an owl around noon, wondering if I wanted to grab a late lunch at this cute little café in the city. I decided it was a harmless offer to accept, seeing as how I had practically begged the bloke to be my wedding date. After taking a shower and changing into something a bit more high-brow than my sweatpants, I applied a decent amount of makeup for extra insurance. My body was tingling with a mixture of surprising anticipation and nervous agitation. I wondered if Oliver thought of this as a date. Was it a date? I hadn't recalled any language that would indicate that the proposition could be clearly classified as a date. But when was the last time I had been on an actual date? Oh let's see…in about a zillion years!

I decided to leave a few minutes early. I apparated fairly easily and landed right outside the café. It was rather small, though bustling with eager customers. The brick building itself housed a few tables and a pair of gender separated loos. Known for their legacy of supreme sandwiches, soups, and bread creations, patrons could watch as their order was created in front of them. An outdoor awning shaded a plethora of tables and chairs, exclusively designed for couples. Oliver had said to meet him outside at around 1:30. It was about 1:15, so I decided to pop inside and get a peek at the selection. Unfortunately, my curiosity had set me up for a most unpleasant situation.

As soon as I walked in, I spotted the one person I'd been openly hating and secretly loving for the past few years. The one person who could make my blood broil with fury and affection. Frederick Weasley, in the flesh. He was exactly the same as I'd remembered him, same athletic, though lean build and creamy skin.

For such a long time, he had lived and breathed as a transparent ghost behind my eyelids, haunting me without the slightest discern, simultaneously dead and alive, his chains like the spooks of a Charles Dickens's novel, constructed by the steel of regret, intricately woven with our past memories. Merlin, I can't tell you how much it hurt. Just hurt, to simply know that he was out and about, going about his normal life, while I wasted time wrapped up in the vortex of my own mind, wondering what it was to be normal, since it seemed so foreign and out of reach.

Katie was right. I need to move on.

Anyway, I just stood there, frozen in place like a lamb staring into the shotgun of a hunter. He stood towards the back of the building, paying for a mountain of a sandwich. After counting out the right change, he swiftly dumped his pay into the cashier's hand and then looked up. I couldn't move, I tell you. I kept telling myself to get a move on, go wait outside and look for Oliver, but I didn't want to. It was just like our days in Hogwarts, when I used to get so tongue-tied that my insides melted like a lava lamp, all gooey and warm, all senses failing.

He walked toward me, that bastard, and when he finally realized that I was practically staring at him, we both were trapped in the spell. He was a stone fox in dark green and denim, belt heavy with a gun that was stuffed and loaded with the unsuspecting grin, the quick fire of a witty euphemism, threatening to flip my happiness into melancholy remorse, only to flip it right side up again. And he walked toward me, that bastard in green and blue jeans, and I wanted him and I didn't want him, and I felt angry and beyond jubilant, and I wanted to run and I wanted to hide, but most of all, I just wanted to know why.

Why were things the way they are?

He kept coming closer and closer, and I tell you, I didn't know what in the world to do. I could hear Katie's voice screaming in the back of my head, telling me to pretend he was just like every other person in the restaurant and this was all very commonplace and that I was just turning this little wave into a typhoon.

He kept getting closer and closer and my heart was dizzy dancing up and down and all around, slamming against my chest, thumping like the tail of a puppy.

_Maybe he'll pass me. Maybe he'll keep going and not say anything at all._

I shifted my weight, my hand spontaneously reaching up to fix my hair, which didn't need any mending at all. I tugged at a curl, put my hand down and attempted to calculate how many steps it would take until he was right in front of my face. I looked away, down at the floor, silently cursing a mile a minute.

When I allowed my eyes to gaze upward once more, I was studying the eyes that had grown so familiar with time, the eyes that had colored my adolescence, the eyes that over time I had learned to despise.

His voice was a whisper, jagged yet confident. My ghost began to rattle his chains, that dusty throat wheezing with newfound speech. This was not happening. And yet, it really was.

"Hullo Angel."

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a/n: Thank you everyone for reviewing! I'm excited to be back and I'm excited that I finally feel inspired to write. It's a nice change from churning out just horrible term papers and all the like. I hope everyone is doing well! 


	5. I Saw Sparks

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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A/N: Yes, I've finally updated! I told you I'd start writing again, once I got out of school! Yes, yes, there's no need to get down and worship the ground I walk on, but I won't complain. Haha. Happy reading and thank you for being patient!

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**May 31**

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**Home**

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I didn't know what to say. I mean, seriously, what the heck would YOU do if your ex-boyfriend, first-love and current love of your life suddenly popped out of nowhere, dashing grin and all? It is quite possible that Fate or Cupid, or whoever is in charge of Destiny and all the like, seems to get a big kick out of making my life complicated.

Maybe this is all one cruel experiment, conducted to see how I'll react in such situations. Well, if that's the case, I think that you've got all the data you need! Obviously, I'm not one of those fortunate souls who will just act natural and calm and pretend that their heart is pounding between their ears. I wish he wouldn't have called me "Angel." Maybe then it would have been easier to pretend I hated him.

"Frederick," I replied, with the utmost disdain.

"Fancy bumping into you. How are you?" he wondered, the polite smile unable to remain on his face.

"I'm all right, all things considering. And how have you been?" I tensely wondered.

"I've been ok. All things considered."

"I suppose you got an invite to Katie's wedding?"

This was obviously a useless and meaningless question to ask, but my mouth could only supply useless and meaningless phrases. After all this time, Fred still had the same effect on me. That dizzy, head-pounding, heart-rattling, knee-knocking type of vertigo that I was embarrassed to display. I hated being vulnerable, especially if Frederick Weasley was the sole cause of this emotional breakdown. It's terribly hard to consciously forget someone, if your subconscious won't comply.

Fred shifted from foot to foot, lazily running a hand through his brilliant locks.

"Of course. Can't believe Lee is tying the knot! Kind of surreal, isn't it?"

I shrugged, my eyes momentarily scanning the crowd for any sign of Oliver. Using my nonexistent telepathic powers, I commanded Wood to materialize behind Fred, goofily grinning and rescuing me from humiliation.

"Yeah. I don't know. I always used to think that Lee and Katie would be the first to get married. Out of all our friends, I guess. And…us," I added.

I despised the way my voice cracked, the last minute commentary carving out a piece of my pretentious bravado. What was I trying to do? Pick a fight? It seemed too natural to throw around my words and insults, rather than make polite small talk. Perhaps I didn't want to have an amiable discussion, as it would further aggravate the resentment buried below. If I picked a fight, at least I would be able to relieve some of my tension. I'm sure Fred would be grateful for this outlet; time had only stimulated hostility, whether he was comfortable showcasing this or not.

Hogwarts seemed so far away, as though I'd never even been a student. It was precisely moments like this, where I wished I could travel back in time and warn myself. I've reached the age where society mandates that I'm an adult. What a terrible title to bestow upon someone that still behaves like a kid.

Fred made a noise that was in between a snort and someone squeezing his throat. He looked down at his sandwich, and then met my gaze again.

"I think we could have had a chance. We _did_ have a chance. You were the one that decided it wasn't possible," he quietly seethed.

I winced, as though he'd jabbed my shoulder with a hunting knife. I couldn't weasel my way out of that allegation. I'd thrown a cake at the bloke's head, after all. But Fred hadn't exactly proposed a peace treaty, either. That's something we'd always been horrible at: compromise.

"That's bollocks. Pure bollocks, and you know it. I didn't want our relationship to end the way it did. But you didn't give me much of a choice. You didn't give _us_ much of a choice," I argued.

His face was starting to match his trademark hair. And for some reason, my absolute and asphyxiating melancholy steadily transformed into utter excitement and anticipation. My heart wasn't pounding because I was terrified of what Fred would say next. Rather, I was giddily anxious to absorb his next blow. We were dueling without wands. And I had missed his company and his voice for so long, that dueling was better than silence. He was boiling with rage as the seconds ticked by and he'd never looked so irresistible.

"Bloody hell, after all this time and you still haven't changed! Grow up, Angelina. You know how I felt about you. You've always known how I felt about you, even before I would admit it myself!"

I laughed, the sort of hoarse chuckle that scratches at the bottom of your throat like a sharp rake. I pressed my hand to my chest, as though it would suppress my reaction.

"Grow up? Fred Weasley, out of all people, is telling me to grow up? I should write that down or something! I think I made my feelings pretty clear, as well. That wasn't the first time you walked out on me! Don't you remember our sixth year? You dropped out of school without telling me! You broke up with me and then you left Hogwarts! I sat in my room, wondering what I'd done wrong. You made me believe that it was my fault, that it was something I'd said! I damn near went crazy, trying to figure it out."

Fred smirked, immediately picking up on the pieces of information I'd embellished and exaggerated, in order to support my cause.

"That's ridiculous. Yes, I can't deny that I left school. But I came back, didn't I? After everything was said and done, I came back! And the only reason why I came back was to say a proper goodbye," he hissed.

I could tell customers were staring at us, but I didn't really mind. Fred was too ensnared by the passion of his convictions to even notice.

"The point is, you're never satisfied. You've never been satisfied with the here and now. You've always got to chase something that's out of your reach. And I always end up waiting around, as you go off on some wild goose chase. Maybe I got tired of waiting for you, all right?"

Fred's expression softened. His free hand shakily rose, as if to touch my shoulder. I stared at his hovering arm and attempted to quell my disappointment when it snapped back to his side. I faintly wondered if Oliver had just forgotten about our lunch date, or if he was concealed by the crowd, observing our row.

"I was satisfied, Angelina. I was more than satisfied. You were the only person that made school bearable."

His face darkened once more, the snippet of raw emotion sailing from his parted lips and scuttling out the front door.

"But that's such bullocks for you to say that! I'm not like you and I never will be like you. Just because I didn't go to university doesn't mean I'm off on some-some childish pursuit! Maybe I didn't want to spend the rest of my youth with my nose glued to a book. There's other things in life, worth living for. You just can't understand that."

This argument was obviously not heading in my favor. I needed to wave a white flag in the next minute or so, or Fred's light hostility would explode into full-out fury. I don't think anyone wanted to get caught in the middle of that, especially since the maturation of his anger would probably force me to start throwing things. Hmm…déjà vu anyone?

"Look, I'm…sorry. This isn't the time or place to bring up the past."

He stared at me for a moment, the sort of stare that indicates that the person can't decide whether or not they want to kiss you or kill you. I was kind of hoping it would be the former, rather than the latter. However, Fred chose option C.

"I've got to get going. It's late," he mumbled.

"Oh? I hope I haven't kept you from anything important."

As soon as the sentence rolled off my tongue, I knew I should have kept it to myself. I could see the conniving wheels in Fred's head begin to turn. The armor I'd worn for our verbal sparring wouldn't help, as it was as flexible and limber as freshly melted gold.

"No, I'm sure Lavender won't mind."

I snapped my mouth shut, shock flowing through my body, twisting my senses. I felt downright sick.

"Lavender Brown?" I demanded.

Fred nodded, utterly pleased with his final act of defiance. He unwrapped his sandwich and took an obnoxious bite, chewing thoughtfully and scratching his chin.

"Mmmhmm. She's a new business partner in Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. I was a bit skeptical at first, but wow, she's got more skills than I thought," he pleasantly explained.

At that point, seeing red was understatement. I was seeing the entire rainbow. And in 3-D, nonetheless.

"I see. So George is all right with your hiring preferences? The shorter the skirt, the higher chance of employment?" I sneered.

He frowned, though the low remark didn't rattle his cool.

"Well, your sarcasm is one thing I _did_ miss. However, I'm stunned that you think that I would hire someone because she's got a great pair of legs. It doesn't hurt, mind you, but I _do_ look for someone that can at least count to ten," Fred cheekily corrected.

I rolled my eyes and stepped aside, allowing him to pass.

"Oh, sorry. How rude of me to even suggest something so blasphemous. I'd better get going too; I'm supposed to meet someone here."

He rose an eyebrow, stole another large bite of his food.

"Really? Care to drop a name?"

I smiled, one that was dangerously wavering over the border between a grimace and a grin.

"Wood."

"_Oliver_ Wood?!"

"I know, right? Ollie and I have been talking a lot more lately. He sent me an owl this morning, wanting to know if I wanted to get together for lunch. If you stick around a few minutes, you can say hello," I sweetly proposed.

Fred's eyes locked onto someone standing behind me, swiftly walking through the doorway, which I assumed was Oliver. Fred curled his lip in disgust, as though he'd discovered a worm in between his bread. It was nice to know that after all these years, the subject of Oliver was still a sore spot. Before Fred and I had officially been a couple, he swore that Oliver fancied me. I don't know if that was true or not, but I was desperate to pull every rotten trick in the book.

"No, no. That's all right. I'll see him soon enough. I really should get going."

"Tell Lav I said hello!" I called.

Fred waved, to let me know that he'd heard the request. I watched his back sweep through the crowd, his hair like a lighthouse in a frightening storm. I noticed with satisfaction that his shoulders were pulled taunt, as though strained by an unfathomable tension and extravagant stress that had not accumulated from our brief encounter, but from the dust and grime of memories and years.


	6. Scars And Souvenirs

Disclaimer: Ha, I only wish I owned Harry Potter!

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A/N: Thank you, thank you, thank you for all your reviews! I'm glad to receive such a warm reception upon my return. It's really nice to know that there are people out there that still read and anticipate my stories. I can't thank you enough for that. This chapter is a bit longer than all of the previous, as a gesture of my appreciation. I know some of you wanted Fred and Angelina to have a firework worthy reunion, complete with a snog fest, but c'mon guys, what kind of author would I be if I wrote that only five chapters into the story? Ah yes, I know you want them to get back together, but be patient! There will be snogging in this story, I won't deny that. But who will be snogging who? Well, you'll just have to keep reading to see!

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**June 1****

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**Office Break Room**

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Note to self: Never work for Colin Darcy again, as the graveyard shift aptly deserves its name.

After Fred left yesterday, I weaved my way through the crowd to greet Oliver. He glanced over his shoulder, watching as the Weasley Twin dodged through the masses like a bullet tearing through a flimsy blanket. I watched him go, wondering if I should set my pride aside and run after him. But it was a thought generated in vain, one to detract from the underlying emotions of guilt and regret. I knew that no matter how many times I envisioned such an apologetic reunion, it wouldn't happen. Maybe it was better to stay within the comfort of dreams and fantasies, as dreamers can control the endings.

When Fred and I had been together, I didn't think about endings, I thought about beginnings. I thought about the beginning of a new life together, the beginning of parenthood, beginnings and beginnings and beginnings. My Mother used to tell me that I used my imagination as a crutch, that I was too reluctant to face reality. Now, I suppose she's right.

I guess other people could tell me that I'm acting immature and I'm dwelling on something that should be dead and buried. In a way, I wholeheartedly agree. I'm only reopening old wounds and poking old scars, just to get some sort of reaction. I never needed saving, I've always fancied myself an independent sort of girl. However, all things aside, now would be a great time for an unexpected hero.

The War is over and lives have been mended, glued back together. People are starting to remember that happiness is possible, that they don't have to wake up to explosions and headlines screaming murder and mayhem. And yet, this whole wedding ordeal and bumping into Fred has got me running in circles. I feel like I'm falling apart again. And this time, no one is responsible but me. I'm my own worst enemy.

Merlin, can I be anymore melodramatic? I hate thinking like this, I hate writing down nothing but sentences stuffed with self-loathing. But what else am I supposed to write down?

The spat with Fred ravaged my appetite. I ordered a large coffee and Oliver ended up buying a bagel and tea. We took our stuff outside and grabbed an empty table. Much to my surprise, Oliver paid for everything! Trust me, I insisted that I could pay my own way, but he wouldn't listen.

Before I could open my purse, Oliver had slapped down a few sickles and knuts. He momentarily grabbed my hand to lead me through the store, but quickly dropped it once he got through the door. I didn't know HOW to react to that! Oliver has never been the touch-feely type of guy. I mean yes, it would be quite rude and unfair to call him an emotional iceberg.

We've hugged goodbye at the platform a few times. I think we've even kissed each other on the cheek a few times. But it's all within the realm of polite etiquette. Nothing to write home about, mind you. Perhaps it was just my overactive nature, but the gesture was so…out of the ordinary that I couldn't help but search for hidden meanings.

We sat down, grateful for the shade and the pleasant weather. I sipped my drink and watched as Oliver split open his bagel. He slathered on the cream cheese and then glanced up.

"Are you sure you don't want half?"

I shook my head, surprised at his offer.

"No, I'm fine. But thank you."

He shrugged, took a bite, and swallowed.

"So, was I hallucinating, or did Fred Weasley just ram into my shoulder, attempting to charge out the door?"

I nervously giggled, pausing to take another sip.

"Um, unfortunately, you weren't. While I was waiting for you, I bumped into him. It wasn't exactly a happy reunion, if you catch my drift," I crisply informed.

He winced, as though a Bludger had knocked into his side.

"Blimey, I'm sorry."

"No, no need to apologize. Fred and I…used to be a lot alike. It was sort of scary. But now I've realized that he's still the same and I've changed. We used to butt heads a lot, but this time it's different. We're not the same people anymore. That's all."

Oliver cocked an eyebrow, trying to thwart his budding curiosity.

"If I remember correctly, you guys used to fight about every other week. But for some reason, it made sense. Sounds like loony talk, but I'm assuming that you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I know exactly what you mean. And that's why things ended so horribly. We got to the point where the fighting became too routine. The moment it started to carry meaning was the moment things started to go downhill," I analyzed.

I couldn't believe I was actually admitting all of this, to Oliver Wood of all people! But he appeared sincerely interested and for some peculiar reason, I felt…safe, unloading all of my anxieties. I'm so used to chattering about this stuff with girls, that I'd forgotten that a new perspective from the opposite gender could be beneficial. I guess you can add Holden into the mix, but he's my brother and that automatically nullifies it.

Big Brothers have that protective gene wired into their biological makeup and therefore, have a skewered lens when discussing their little sister's ex-boyfriend.

"Well, Fred was always sort of a cocky bastard. But it was Fred, so you put up with it. Anyone else and I would've punched the poor sod," Oliver replied, with a small grin.

"I won't argue with you on that! You know, it's amazing that I wasted so many years on him. Why couldn't I have just fancied a nice, sensible bloke. One that knows how to match and can cook and doesn't blow up toilets or try to turn my shoes into edible fruit snacks. Am I nuts? Please, tell me if I am," I lamented.

Oliver laughed and I was relieved. I was quite serious about that little rant, though I was afraid I'd come off to crass. I didn't want to scare him off, you know.

"Angie, calm down. You're not nuts. In fact, you're quite normal. I never devoted much attention to the Weasley's Love Life, but I don't think you were the first girl to chase after him. That whole prankster, smart alec, I Can Get Away With Anything persona is half the charm, right? What did an ex-girlfriend tell me? Oh, right. Yes. She said that _Nice Guys are boring!_ If I had known that earlier, I'd be a much wiser bloke," he wistfully said.

I willingly took the bait he'd tossed out. Oh c'mon, you don't think that he mentioned the ex-girlfriend bit just for the fun of it, did you? Ok, so maybe, once again, I'm being stupid and reading too much into this.

However, I wanted to know what sort of idiot would dump Oliver Wood. Yes, he can be a little…emotional when it comes to Quidditch, but other than that, he's a good guy. Compared to Fred, he does fall into that "Nice Guy" category, but why should that he be shunned for it?

"She said that?" I asked.

"Yep. Just before she took her stuff and slammed my door."

"Oh, that's awful! But seriously, what kind of twit says that?"

He chuckled, carefully nursing his Earl Grey, peering at me through sand-colored eyelashes. I couldn't hold his gaze for too long. Unlike Fred's outright allure, Oliver could turn his charisma off and on with the blink of an eye. And it was so subtle and so refined that you didn't even notice until you were fully sober and entangled within his web.

There was nothing intimidating or threatening about Oliver's magnetism, which made it all the more enticing and dangerous. At least with Fred, you could see the risks as they were spelled out for you. Oliver was the sort of bloke that _looked_ like a Nice Guy, acted like a Nice Guy, but every now and then, embraced the urge to rebel.

"Oh, the sort of twit named Larissa O'Shay."

My eyes widened and I nearly choked on my drink.

"Larissa O'Shay? Isn't she that model I always see in Witch Weekly and Bewitched?"

He nodded, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah. Too bad her looks are about the only thing going for her."

I laughed, enjoying Oliver's sardonic insult.

"Now Oliver, why would a _Nice Guy_ ever say such a thing?" I teased.

He snorted and picked up his bagel, as though he'd suddenly remembered he'd bought it.

"Don't you start too. She only wanted to stay with me because of the whole professional Quidditch angle. She thought I was some big playboy that went to all those parties and stuff. I mean, I used to, but that was before, when I was completely single. When I'm dating someone, I'd rather spend time alone with her, rather than be around a huge crowd. Anyway, it didn't last long. When she realized that I didn't fancy hitting every club in England, she dumped me."

"Well, good riddance to bad rubbish. You're probably better off without her," I advised.

Oliver was serious for a moment, fixing me with that peculiar stare again. My cheeks ignited and I fiddled with my hands underneath the table. Can someone please tell me when Oliver Wood got so attractive? Mind you, as much as I (supposedly) hate Fred Weasley, no one could/can ever compare to how I feel/felt about him. But wow, if Oliver was going to keep showing up in T-shirts that showed off his perfectly sculpted forearms and keep looking at me like THAT, then I'd soon be wondering, Frederick Weasley **who?**

After hanging around the café for a solid hour, Oliver asked if I wanted to come over to his place. I admit, I hesitated for a few minutes, but then decided why not? We got there and you can imagine what we did next…..

**NOT.**

Just kidding. We actually played a game of Quidditch. Surprise, surprise. I'd mentioned back at the restaurant that my Arsenal audition was coming up soon and Oliver snapped into Coach Mode. It was like I'd never graduated from school! He went into his enormous storage shed, rummaged around a bit, and then threw last year's Firebolt model at my head. It was exhilarating though, being up in the air and darting in and out of the clouds. We ran through a few drills and then set up a match. Oliver beat me by two lousy points. I was kind of irritated and challenged him to a rematch.

"This isn't over, Wood! Don't think you're off the hook yet," I barked.

"Oh, so does this mean you'll be coming over next weekend?" he innocently wondered.

"Of course it does!"

He soared away heckling to himself and then I fully realized what I'd proposed. I had practically forced him to let me over again! Normally, I wouldn't think too much of this, but it's Oliver Wood we're talking about. My current date to Katie's wedding. We've had a long, meaningful discussion about ex-girlfriends and ex-boyfriends and the mysterious ways of love and life. And so, my invitation could easily translate as frank declaration of latent longing for said bloke.

Which would be TOTALLY wrong, in so many ways. Because I DON'T want Oliver, at least not like that. He's a good mate and a great listener and a crazy, yet competent captain. But I don't fancy him in the least bit. Nope, not me. And I sure as heck wasn't staring at him when he took off his shirt, after he'd landed on the ground. No way was I staring.

What have I gotten myself into now? You know, some people would totally get the wrong idea and think that I'm going to use Oliver, in order to get back at Fred. I pity the people who would believe that! What kind of friend, what kind of PERSON would I be if I totally manipulated Oliver?

Yes. Oliver is attractive. Yes. Fred is a first-class jerk. But no, these are not the appropriate elements that develop an equation for revenge. The days of using French Model Exchange Students are in my past. I've retired from the business of scheming.

So, I will go over to Oliver's place next weekend and hang out and laugh and not worry about smiling and showing too many teeth. I will be cool and calm and collected, because it's just Oliver Wood for pete's sake. I will forget about that despicable Fred Weasley, because he's not a part of my life now.

I will pretend that I will follow through with the above.

Hmm…just checked the fridge. Someone left a whole tray of homemade fudge. Considering my emotional state, I think I deserve a form of relief. You know, what I **really** need is a good snog session, but seeing as how that's never going to happen, a bar of calorie-loaded fudge will be a mighty fine substitute. I should stop eating so much. I swear I'm gaining weight. My arse is going to burst out of my bridesmaid dress.

I'll start a diet….tomorrow.

For now, I will sit back and devour this piece of heaven and not think about Fred and the time we snogged for twenty-minutes straight or the way Oliver tends to unintentionally swagger and inadvertently draw attention to his perfect derriere.

I am Angelina Johnson, secure twentysomething, and level-headed career woman! Here me roar!

Oh dear. The entire tray is gone. I don't have the faintest idea how that happened. I'm going to write an IOU note. It's the least I can do…..

On second thought…maybe if I just transfigure that stack of old paper plates into fudge, the owner won't notice. And it'll be like I never ate them, right?

All right. So. The plates are now the fudge and the "fudge" has been neatly piled onto their respective china. I'm going to eat one, just to make sure the taste isn't too outrageous and out of the ball park.

Hmm.

Tastes a bit like Styrofoam, but I'm sure nobody will notice.

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**June 5**

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**Dress Shop/Tailor's**

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Alicia is now trying on her dress and having the tailor adjust the measurements. As soon as I got here, I told Katie that she might have to fix my dress, as I couldn't possibly squeeze my lumpy body into a size 4. She told me that I was acting silly and shoved me into the dressing room. I don't know what happened between the last time I wrote in here and now, but the dress actually fits! I thought Kates would pick out some poofy nightmare, but she's got pretty good taste.

All of the bridesmaid's dresses are this burnt orange/peach color that sounds like an eyesore when transcribe onto paper, but is very flattering in person. Since Katie's wedding dress is strapless, we're wearing halter style gowns. Alicia complained because she thinks she's got manly shoulders. I told her that they weren't manly but broad.

Her bottom lip quivered and she said, "You think I have manly shoulders?!"

She almost burst into tears. I reassured her that she's got lovely, petite, feminine shoulders and that she shouldn't worry at all. I don't think she believed me, but she stopped sniffling.

As I was getting stuck with pins and needles, I told the girls about my lunch date with Oliver and my encounter with Fred.

"So Fred was all by himself when you ran into him?" Katie demanded, for about the third time.

I nodded, coolly studying my reflection in the three-way mirror. I ignored the witch that fluttered about, muttering measurements to herself and tugging at my dress.

"Yes, for the last time. In fact, he was the one that came up to me! I should have run when I had the chance. Anyway, I told you what he said. We got into an argument and then as soon as he saw Oliver, he bolted."

Alicia waggled her eyebrows, poking Katie in the ribs.

"Ooh Freddy's getting a bit jealous, I suppose! Don't you remember? Fred always thought Oliver fancied you. I bet he's going to flip his wig once he sees the two of you at the wedding. He'll have steam coming out of his ears," she giddily predicted.

Katie nodded, eyeing my dress and then grinning up at me.

"She's right, you know. I mean, Fred's got a jealousy streak wider than the Atlantic. I wouldn't be surprised if he ditched Lavender and snogged you right in the middle of the ceremony."

I groaned.

"Guuuys! You're missing the point," I whined.

"And that would be?" Alicia persisted.

"I don't _want_ Fred to snog me. I just want to forget about him. Forget that we even dated. I'm through with him. In fact Kates, YOU'RE the one that said I should move on. I'm not going with Oliver to make Fred jealous. I'm going with Oliver because I don't want to look like a total loser in front of our friends. And back up a minute, he's bringing Lavender?" I screeched.

Katie sighed.

"Unfortunately, yes. I told Lee I _really_ didn't want her to come, but he told me it wouldn't be fair to ban someone's date from the wedding, just because I had a quote and quote, _personal grudge_. Bah! Yeah right! He almost didn't invite Roger Davis because I dated him for like a_ week_ in third year. Anyway, I thought that's what you wanted?"

"Wait, what was what I wanted?"

"To have Fred snog you!" she crowed.

"Katie! Really now! I'm trying to tell you that I don't want anything to do with the bloke and you're trying to set us up again. I'm sorry, but locking us in your dressing closet isn't going to fix things. I've said things that can't be taken back and he's done things that are unforgivable," I stiffly enlightened.

Alicia came to Katie's rescue.

"Angie dear, we've known you for too long to buy that speech. You and Fred go together like peanut butter and jelly. Peas and carrots. Snow cones and June. France and frog legs."

"I was following you all the way up to the France and frog legs part. After that, you lost me," I teased.

Katie laughed and Alicia crossed her arms over her chest, glaring.

"Well, you didn't let me finish. Anyhow, you and Fred are the definition of soul mates. I'm not kidding. As much as you were different from one another, you were alike. You wouldn't bring up your little reunion if it didn't mean something, _anything_, to you," Alicia rationalized.

"It was annoying, that's all. I learned that Fred Weasley is a bloody seventeen year old forever trapped in a twenty-five year old's body. That's about it."

Katie and Alicia exchanged that smug, superior look that I've always hated.

"Fine, fine. I'll drop it," Alicia wearily offered.

"For now!" Katie devilishly corrected.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," I grumpily mumbled.

"So, since you don't want to discuss past loves, let's talk about current ones. So after you and Oliver had your little heart to heart, where he oh so nonchalantly admitted that he's single, ready to mingle, and wouldn't be totally put off by the idea of putting out with his female companion, you did what?" Katie lightly interjected.

Alicia burst into hoarse cackles, clutching her side. I couldn't help but laugh as well, though I adopted a stern look of reprisal, just to save face.

"First of all, Miss Bell, I'm completely repulsed by your potty mouth."

I grinned, to let Katie now that I was only kidding, and she waved it away, snickering to herself.

"And second of all, we were just having lunch together. Like old friends do. With that being said, we didn't really do much after that. We went to his house and had a few games of Quidditch," I summarized.

"That's it?" Alicia quizzically demanded.

"The whole kit and caboodle."

"Jeez. Well, no worries. You've got a few weeks before the wedding."

"To do what?" I cautiously wondered.

"To seal the deal!" Katie hastily retorted.

My dizzy mates both commenced their heckling like a pair of hens.

"You two are worse than a locker room full of adolescent boys!" I scolded.

"I'm sorry, it was just too easy. No, in all seriousness, why are you so disgusted by the idea of dating Oliver? Angie, you haven't been on a real date in who knows how long. And if you're so over Fred, as you keep insisting, then what's wrong with playing the field and having a little fun? You deserve it."

I was silent, my eyes locked on my own reflection.

"There _are_ other blokes out there besides Fred Weasley," Alicia quietly reminded.

I continued to stare at my reflection until it began to blur.

* * *

**June 6**

* * *

**Home**

* * *

Here's more proof that I'm losing my mind. I had the day off and decided to wander around Diagon Alley. After catching up on some much needed beauty sleep, I took a shower and changed my clothes. As if in a trance, I found myself bypassing all of the shops and stores and finally wandered into Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. Why? Because I'm a certified nutcase. Because I can't control myself. Because ever since running into Fred at the café', my senses have gone haywire and I don't know which way is up or down.

The place was packed, mostly with preteens and teenagers. I have to admit, some of the stuff that those two have invented is quite clever. Anyway, I spotted Lavender parading around the Love Potion Section, wearing the tightest sweater known to mankind, so I zoomed down the farthest aisle and planted myself into the back corner. I began aimlessly looking at the shelves, when I heard a familiar voice.

"Angelina? What are you doing here?"

George glided out of the door marked _EMPLOYEES ONLY_ and to my side. Although Fred and I are going through a rough patch, George and I have remained pretty good friends. Granted, I've never been as close to him as say, Katie or Alicia, but it certainly doesn't mimic the hostility I've reserved for his brother.

I like George, I guess. He's goofy all right and knows when to have a laugh, but he's not arrogant like Fred. Fred uses his egotistical nature to charm, George uses humility. I can't imagine myself opening up to him like I did with Oliver, but I reckon he probably would listen if I ever made that decision.

"Oh, hi um, George! I was just in the area and wanted to stop by. For old time's sake," I fumbled.

The skepticism that skittered across his cheekbones certainly indicated that he didn't believe a word I'd uttered. That was all right, as long as he didn't call me out on it.

"Right. Well uh, if you're looking for Fred, I can go get him if you want. He's in the back room doing some paperwork," George replied.

I shook my head, my voice peeling into nervous laughter.

"Oh, no, no. That won't be necessary. I just wanted to drop by, you know, see how business was treating you."

He nodded, gently propping his back against the shelf, steadily leaning on his feet, staring at me.

"I see. Well, as you probably guessed, everything's going great here. We're thinking about opening up another branch up in Manchester or something? We'd like to actually buy the place out, but we just got done remodeling the store here. So we might have to rent first, before we can make a sale," he explicated, with half-hearted interest.

I was a little surprised, to tell you the truth. Who knew the twins had become such entrepreneurs?

"Sounds like you're in good shape. Fred ah, told me you recently…expanded your staff?" I tensely pursued.

George was confused, until he followed my gaze, boiling with not-so hidden disdain. We both watched for a moment, as Lavender blew a rather perky bubble with her gum and then snapped it back into her humungous gob, slathered in pink gloss.

Am I jealous? Really now, what in the world would I have to be jealous about? That some trashy girl seems to have suddenly captivated the bloke I spent about seven years chasing? Oh, of course not. That would just be illogical.

"Oh! Haha, yeah. Lavender Brown, who would have thought she'd ever work here? No, she actually helps with the finances and accounting. Fred's pretty lousy when it comes to crunching numbers. And I'm pretty tied up with running other things, so we decided to hand over all the monetary responsibilities to someone else. I thought she'd fudge up everything, but so far, we haven't had any problems," he pleasantly described.

I nodded, clenching down on my jaw.

"Well. I'm glad you were able to find someone so…appropriate for the job."

George peered at me with unspoken comprehension, studying me like a psychologist observing a very complicated patient.

"Angie, you don't have to answer me if you don't want to. But I'll ask anyway. Why did you _really_ come here? And don't feed me that line about wanting to check up on us. You could easily have rung up Alicia and asked or sent me an owl. You didn't have to come all the way down here."

Before I could unfurl my carefully constructed lie, the sod in question decided to waltz out of the backroom and into the storefront. George frowned and cleared his throat. I should have said goodbye and left, but I was hungry for a confrontation. His hair looked a bit disheveled, as though he'd been fiddling with it for the past hour.

"Angelina? What on Earth are you doing here?"

Fred's question was not padded by malicious intent, but it was easy to detect the blooming aggresion.

"Nothing. I was just talking to George. I'm about to leave anyway."

George regained his posture, straightening his spine and glancing at the both of us, trying to figure out who would combust first.

"Oh, ok…Did George tell you that we're thinking about opening up another franchise?"

He was frantically grasping for small talk, the kind of polite though dull and useless chatter that apathetic neighbors use when they greet each other in the street. Their conversations are not a means of communal bonding or genuine affection, but a way of keeping up appearances and serving as reminders of their detachment.

"Yes. That must be exciting."

"Very."

George bit his bottom lip, looking as though he might laugh at the sad irony of it all. I gave a weak cough, in order to fill the ear-splitting silence, and then clasped my hands together.

"So, I suppose I'll get going now. I'll see you later, George. And…Fred," I added, as though it physically pained me to say his name.

George smiled and gave a short wave. I didn't bother to view Fred's reaction and sharply turned on my heel, about to head for the sanctuary of the door.

"Going to meet Oliver?"

The snide inquiry literally made me freeze. My spine seemed to snap upright with alarming precision, as though I were a wooden solider being pulled by a string. I slowly spun around, my face drawn into a tight line. I couldn't let him get the best of me, even though my unexpected visit had been a deliberate aim to provoke him.

"Excuse me?"

Fred sauntered forward, hands in his pockets, grinning from ear to ear.

"I said, are you going to meet Oliver? It's a simple question, really. If you are, could you send him my regards?" he sweetly inquired.

"No, I'm not going to meet _Oliver_. Why do you ask?" I wondered through gritted teeth.

Fred shrugged, coming even closer.

"No particular reason. I just thought that since he's now your date to Katie and Lee's wedding, you've been seeing a lot more of him."

I wondered who had spilled the beans, but knowing our group of friends, news traveled a little too quickly.

"I see. Well, now that you've brought up Oliver, I think I'll just stop by his place after I leave here. He won't mind. He's been helping me get in shape for my upcoming Arsenal audition, if you know what I mean. Gosh, we played such a grueling game a few days ago, I'm still a little sore," I coyly answered.

Fred was fuming now, looming in front of me, his tepid breath fanning across my cheeks.

"Is he now? You make sure you tell Wood I said hello, all right then?" he jaggedly nagged.

I nodded and gingerly patted him on the shoulder.

"All right."

And with one final wave, I strolled out of the store, making sure to add an extra swing to my hips.


	7. Losing My Religion

A/N: Once again, many thanks to all of you wonderful reviewers. I would not be writing without your support!

* * *

**June 8**

* * *

**Holden's Flat**

* * *

Holden convinced me to pop over to his flat; I'm still trying to figure out why I'm here. Neither of us felt like going out to grab a bite to eat, so we cooked some vegetable stir-fry. Correction, I cooked and Holden watched, making sure to add appropriate commentary whenever he felt I wasn't up to his standards. The wanker.

Yesterday, Alicia and I went shoe shopping. We both found a nice pair of champagne colored heels that will nicely coordinate with our dresses. I was getting so frustrated by the end of the afternoon, since all of the shops we visited had a fierce affection for stocking black shoes by the masses.

While we browsed through the rows and rows of boxes, Alicia decided to unload all of her relationship woes. I didn't think it was the smartest idea, as I'm certainly the least qualified to be dishing out advice. Asking me about the twisted thinking of the male population would be like asking a house elf about the sensation and experience of being completely free. It'd just be a cruel and unusual joke, in order to enforce my complete ignorance and confusion. I should be a professional whiner, not a Ministry of Magic employee. Too bad it won't pay the rent bills.

"So, this hoopla about Katie and Lee has got me thinking," she began, steadily eyeing a pair of candy apple stilettos.

"I'm afraid of what you're going to say next," I teased.

She rolled her eyes, fixing me with a steely glare, much like the one my Mum would issue whenever she caught me rummaging through her makeup drawer.

"Oh, shush up. Anyway, this wedding ordeal has got me thinking about George. And as you know, we've been together for years now. But I just have this sinking feeling that he's never going to make that big leap, never make that sort of commitment, you know?"

I frowned, a bit alarmed that Alicia was admitting her waning faith. I'd always thought of George and Alicia as the complete opposite of Fred and myself. George and Alicia were supposed to be the perfect couple, the poster child for tranquility and trust and teamwork. Yes, they had their fair share of arguments, but for the most part, I'd regarded them as solid. Resolute. Firm. Definite.

Fred and I tended to break up just as much as we'd make up. George and Alicia both hated confrontations and thus, their anger proved passive-aggressive. If Fred was like a bomb about to go off, George was a firecracker, extinguished with a gentle bucket of water. I knew that Alicia was starting to grow antsier, but I had no idea she was this perturbed. I didn't really know how to respond. I wanted to be there for her and I wanted to be a good friend, but I could only nod my head and stare, dumbfounded.

"How do you know?" I lamely asked.

She shrugged, though I could detect her self-assured assertiveness.

"The little things, I suppose. We live together, all right. But people can live together for years and never get married. Last night I asked him if we should get a bit more serious, and he just looked at me like I'd grown another head. I think I've always known that George was the only guy I wanted to be with. But he acts like he's still unsure, like he's missing out on other options."

I sighed, patting her hand.

"Aw, Leesh, don't be so hard on yourself. Maybe he just wants to take things slow. You guys haven't lived together for _that_ long. Perhaps he just wants to test things out, use this as a preview. George loves you, I'm sure of it."

She furrowed her brow.

"What makes you so sure?" she demanded.

"It's as plain as day. It's written all over his face. And it's just like you said, the little things. The way he grabs your hand underneath the table at dinner. The way he looks at you when he thinks no one is watching. The smile that appears on his face when someone even says your name. This isn't puppy love, it's the real deal. The real McCoy. You know, sometimes I think we put too much emphasis on rings and anniversary dates. Sometimes it's the stuff that we take for granted that matters much more than all the flashy pretense," I wistfully philosophized.

She thought for a moment, trying on the argument for size.

"I guess it's so hard to believe it because I'm too close. I'm too close and it distorts the image, zooms in on the bad and you forget about all the good. But I try and take a step back, look at the bigger picture, and I'm still worried. I'll just feel a lot better when I've got a ring on my finger. Sounds awfully shallow, but it's kind of like insurance, you know? It's concrete proof that I'm not harboring unrequited feelings."

I spotted a pair of black kitten heels, subtly sophisticated, the kind of shoe that you'd wear with a flattering, black dress. The kind of expensive dress sewn from expensive cloth, the type of garment you'd wear on a date to a fancy restaurant where violin players surrounded your table. They were exactly the type of shoe that I'd probably never get to wear, just because the guy I'd wear them for had decided I wasn't worth it. I felt a little queasy and looked away.

"I was so worried after my birthday. Fred and I fought all the time, but we'd never fought like that before. The next day, after it was all over, I wasn't even that angry anymore. But I just didn't want to look like the weaker one. And look where that got me. Back to square one. Alone and chasing after him again. Except this time, I've moved from the best friend role to the dreaded ex part. I'm not allowed spotlight time. I've been pushed backstage," I whispered.

Alicia had been walking in front of me, lazily inspecting possible purchases. However, once she heard my declaration, she twirled around, all self-doubt erased like a line in the sand. She put both hands on my shoulders, aiming her gaze directly into my pupils, as though her own convictions would silently travel through her stare and diffuse throughout my entire body.

"Angie, you've got to stop blaming yourself. It just makes you more and more upset. I know it sounds terribly trite, but I think when two people are meant to be together, eventually they will be. It might take awhile and it might take a few false starts, but it'll happen. You don't think you and Fred are meant to be, but I do."

I didn't say anything and she didn't elaborate. Surprisingly, I didn't have a difficult time blocking my tears. For the first time in a long time, I felt completely dead. Thoughts were howling through the walls of my mind, but the void was overwhelming.

* * *

**June 10**

* * *

**Home**

* * *

I could have literally kicked myself today. Went over unannounced to Alicia's flat, hoping she would be around. Or even George. But no. Out of all the people in the entire country, in the entire world, I had to bump into Fred. I appeared in the living room and heard scuffling in the kitchen. Assuming that it was either owner of the apartment, I shuffled down the hall. A tall, lanky bloke with a head full of ginger hair was sticking his face into the refrigerator. I knew who it was before he spoke.

"George? You want a sandwich, I was just about to make something," he offered, too lazy to turn around.

I cleared my throat, crossing my arms over my chest. The only good thing about this impromptu meeting was my outfit. I'd come straight from work and had actually put some effort into this morning's ensemble. I'd chosen a tweed pencil skirt that played up my hour-glass physique, along with a short-sleeve, cream colored, V-neck sweater. I'd straightened my hair and clipped back the sides. Although I **knew** I was going to be thrown into an inescapable argument, at least I looked all right.

"If I were George, I'm sure I'd say yes. However, I'm not George and I'm not hungry, so I'm going to say no."

Fred nearly smashed his head on top of the fridge, as he whirled around to face his opponent. He glared like a lion rudely roused from a deep slumber.

"I can't escape you!"

"I think it's the other way around," I icily corrected.

"What are you doing here?" he questioned, as though I'd broken into the flat and been caught stealing.

"Looking for Alicia. But I see she's not here. Teaches me to pop over uninvited. Why are you here?"

He shut the fridge door with unnecessary force, leaning against the adjacent countertop.

"Looking for George. But, as I now see, he's not here."

"Fine. Do you happen to know when Alicia will be back?" I tersely wondered.

He shook his head.

"Nope. Don't bother to wait around, it might be awhile. Wouldn't want to keep Ollie waiting now, do we? Or is it someone new this week?" he sneered, with only the spite reserved for Slytherins.

It was like an arrow piercing through my heart. I knew that part of his motivation stemmed from revenge, but I couldn't help but take personal offense. In Fred's mind, I had crossed the border and become a traitor. An enemy. Each time he now saw me, it was like a bull seeing red.

"What is it with you and your obsession with Oliver?"

"Obsession? I'm not obsessed," he scoffed.

I barked out a coarse laugh, one that harshly rubbed against the walls, rather than echoing and bouncing off.

"For someone that's not obsessed, you sure find a way to bring up his name every time we talk," I pointed out.

"Well, what else am I supposed to say? I'm only making conversation. You're the one shagging him."

I could have lunged right for his jugular, I swear. But I pressed my nails into my palms, rooted to my spot. I wasn't about to throw myself into his ring of fire. He was like a vampire, gathering his strength and draining his victim. However, blood was not his power source, but my agitation. It was for the love of the game, devotion to the rush of an unjust and conned victory. I was as much at his feet, as I was behind him, stabbing him in the back.

"You're disgusting. First of all, I'm not bloody shagging Oliver Wood. Second of all, IF I were, or IF I ever decide to, it's none of your business!" I ferociously snapped.

He remained relatively cool, glancing down at his nail beds with exaggerated ennui.

"_So said the hypocrite."_

"Excuse me?"

"You heard what I said. So, I'm disgusting for asking about Oliver, yet it's all right for you to accuse me of messing around with Lavender. After months of not speaking to each other, the only thing you can think about discussing is my alleged promiscuity with Lavender Brown. Real classy, darling," he hissed.

He had a point, but I'd already heard the hiccup of the gun shot. I was up and running, ready and set to go. I wanted to beat him to the finish line and leave him in the dust, grinning while he choked on my dirt.

"Oh, so that explains why you decided to leave without telling me? Go off and sign up to get blown to a million bits? That explains why you seemed to disappear off the face of the Earth after that night? All because I'm a hypocrite? Go look at yourself in the mirror, Frederick. Stop trying to save your integrity. Don't even try, baby. Makes you look like a fish flopping around on dry land," I caustically advised.

In one swift motion, he'd barreled away from his position and towered over me, his hands on my forearms, dragging me closer. I pretended to put up a fight, squirming like a worm on a hook. He was livid, his iron grasp reminding me of a straight jacket. The atmosphere had grown unbearably intense and stifling, like the humid and thick haze of a Southern summer night, when the tails of fireflies seem foggy from the heat and it hurts to inhale.

"Let me go," I ordered, the words barely slipping out of my pursed lips.

His grip loosened a noticeable amount, but he didn't release me and I stopped attempting to make a jail break. It was apparent that neither of us had any intention of leaving. We were too engrossed in our pathological destruction, extracting sick pleasure in seeing who would crack first. I wanted to break him, as much as he wanted to break me. Funny enough, we proved both broken and ripped at the seams. Yet like sharks sniffing blood, we pushed forward, entirely transfixed by our temptation.

His voice was thin like the lip of a razor, sending a chill down the knots of my spine. His words were heartbreaking and gut-wrenching; a tear rolled down my cheek and splattered on the floor.

"If you want Oliver, go ahead. No one's stopping you. But if you're only going after him to shove it in my face, then you'd better quit while you're behind. It takes two to tango, Angel. You say I stopped coming around, well, you never showed that you were still interested. You knew I was out there, on the front lines, going head to head with those bastards. And you never wrote a single letter. I was already a dead man in your eyes."

I didn't want to think about it, so I finally gathered the nerve to do what I should have done much sooner. I apparated out of Alicia's flat and into Oliver Wood's bedroom. Oliver surely must have heard the crack and came in from the kitchen, carrying a stack of mail.

"Oliver!" I burst out, my emotions falling to the floor and smashing like a glass vase.

"Angie, you all right?"

I shook my head and fell into his arms. I looked up at him, wishing I could have felt hollow and numb, like I'd felt with Alicia while shoe shopping. But I was feeling too much, everything heightened from my passionate rage and guilt. The situation felt too familiar, as though I were outside of myself, watching old mistakes on a monstrous movie screen. I wove my hands through his head, stood on my tip-toes, and kissed him. It wasn't anything too fierce, barely a peck, but affectionate enough to indicate the lust behind the proposition.

The mail had fallen out of his hands and onto the carpet. He peered down at me, neither smiling nor frowning. I almost thought he'd get angry and tell me to go. However, I was both relieved and ashamed when he kissed me back, the kind of kiss that leaves a girl dizzy and she thinks her heart is going to pop right out of her chest.

And as we kissed, I finally started to feel hollow, the tips of my toes and fingers tingling, as each limb began to shut down and die.


	8. For Reasons Unknown

A/N: Hi everyone, I hope everything is going well! I just want to thank you all for the strong reactions to the previous chapter. I'm glad that after such a long hiatus, people are still reading and reviewing this story!

* * *

**June 11**

* * *

**Break Room**

* * *

If Fred were reading this, he'd be quite disappointed (or perhaps relieved) that I didn't shag Oliver. Seems like quite the perfect set-up, doesn't it? Heartbroken girl, supportive bloke, dim lights and a soft bed. However, nothing happened. We maneuvered our way onto the bed, my head hitting his pillow like a brick smashing into a balloon. His hands were on my hips and I knew I needed to throw up a white flag, but I loved the empty feeling that followed with each kiss. I felt safe, although this security was like the routine acceptance of a prisoner under the watchful eye of his guard.

My eyes were shut as his mouth traveled down the base of my throat. As soon as I felt his palm against my bare shoulder, they flew open. I didn't realize that I was breathing a bit heavily; shame quickly covered my lust. I felt naked, although I was fully clothed. Oliver's face had taken on a new type of tender affection, making the room seem much smaller and narrower.

"I'm so sorry," I raggedly whispered, propping up my body with my elbows.

Oliver stared at me for a moment and then sighed, leaning against the headboard. I didn't know how to analyze that sigh, wondering if I should offer a more illustrative explanation.

"S'all right, I guess. It's probably better that we stopped before it went any further," he mumbled.

"I shouldn't have kissed you," I continued, wondering if there was some sort of spell to seal my mouth.

"I shouldn't have kissed you back," he offered, with an off-handed shrug.

I laughed, though it wasn't a sign of amusement. I gingerly shoved his side, hoping that a dose of humor would vanquish the heaviness of the atmosphere.

"Oliver, how am I supposed to apologize if you keep trying to take all the blame? Stop being selfish. This is one instance where it pays to be humble," I teased.

"You're absolutely right. I'll stop defending myself and let you shoulder all the responsibility."

He grinned and I mustered up enough effort to smile. We were silent for a moment, wondering what to do next.

"You going to tell me why you were upset in the first place?" he eventually asked.

I didn't have a problem admitting the source of my grief, but I chose to leave out the minute details. Oliver didn't need to know that Fred and I had been arguing about him, especially after my screw up.

"Ran into Fred today."

Oliver grimaced. His bated inhale mimicked his hesitation. After a beat, he gently grabbed my hand, his thumb stroking my knuckles. I felt even viler for initiating the kiss, as it was obvious he hadn't understood the full meaning of the verbal retraction of my uncouth action.

"Well, I don't see any visible injuries. So it couldn't have been that terrible," he optimistically assessed.

"That's because the bruises have yet to appear. I don't know how I'm going to make it through Katie's wedding. Of course, I want to be there and see my best friend get married. But if I fall apart when I see Fred for five minutes, how am I going to keep it together for two hours or so?"

"You'll be fine. There'll be a lot of people there. Maybe you won't even see Fred after the ceremony. Besides, you've got me, remember?" he reminded, gazing at me with disarming sincerity.

He's a Knight In Shining Armor, I tell you. However, it seems in my case, I'd gotten too attached to the Frog and now I didn't want the Prince. Except now the Frog had transformed into something even worse than a Frog and now was perfectly content with life as a toad. Wow, maybe I should just lock myself in my tower and swallow the key. Then the Prince can go find the real Princess and I can give back this stupid crown. Merlin knows I don't deserve it.

I wonder if Cinderella and all of them even got tired of waiting around. Did Cinderella ever go out and kiss the Farm Boy, because she got sick of wishing for Prince Charming to get his head out of the sand? Or in this case, do I mean the Frog slash Toad? Somehow, this all made sense in my head. Now, as I write it all out, I'm getting myself confused.

"I know and that makes it even harder, because I don't deserve you. I'm pathetic, Oliver. Going around and worrying about some bloke I barely speak to anymore. I should be thinking about Katie and helping her out, instead of moping about like a sad puppy."

He removed his hand from my grasp, in order to brush a few strands of hair away from my face. Even when a girl is running in circles and blubbering all about his apartment bedroom, he's _still_ adorable. Amazing.

"Angie, you've got to calm down. The wedding is approaching closer and closer. And then once you know it, it'll all be over. Your Arsenal audition is at the end of the month. And who knows? Maybe you'll make the team. Then you'll be traveling and out on the road, and this will all seem like a dream," he advised, with a twinge of dread.

"Like I said, I don't deserve you. I don't deserve your friendship. Here I am, acting like a first class prat, and you haven't kicked me out."

"All right. Now that you mention it, get out," he playfully ordered.

I weakly smiled, shaking my head.

"All those girls that said you were too nice are just crazy. Loony, I tell you. I'm sorry for kissing you. It won't happen again," I gravely promised.

He chuckled, giving my hair a quick ruffle.

"Stop saying you're sorry! There's nothing to be sorry about."

I couldn't help myself. It was a reflex I couldn't control. Before I could retract my statement, the word spewed out of my mouth and flopped onto his lap.

"Sorry. Shit! I'm sorry. I mean-"

Oliver put his finger to my lips, his eyes twinkling.

"What'd I tell you about that word?"

"You know, I almost said it again, just now, but I restrained myself. Merlin, what time is it? I think my inability to form a proper sentence means I should get some sleep. I tend to act even more like a fool when I'm tired," I rationalized.

Oliver glanced at his wristwatch, something pricey though modestly designed.

"S'about midnight. Or it will be in five minutes."

I nodded and rose from my spot. I was about to leave but then I envisioned my flat. My empty, lonely, very vast but very vacant flat. With no one but me. And a freezer full of Dove ice cream bars. Which would normally be appropriate and beyond suitable for a pity-party for one, but after this little shenanigan, I don't think it would be as fun or fulfilling.

"What's wrong? You sure you're feeling all right?" Oliver persisted.

Maybe I didn't want to go home after all.

"I uh…Jeez, I hate to do ask you…but is it all right if I…stay here, just for a little bit. I just need somewhere to lay my head. Somewhere that isn't my own apartment."

"I don't know if that's such a good idea," he faintly argued.

I bit my lip, the need to stay increasing with alarming speed.

"It's all right. I won't pull any funny stuff. I promise. I can't go home. Just not yet," I disagreed.

His altruistic nature was much too strong to battle his resistance.

"Ok. I'll just take the couch," he agreed.

"Don't be silly. This is your house. I'll probably be out in a few minutes."

A lopsided grin proceeded, which tugged at my heart. I slipped off my heels and Oliver swiftly strolled to my side of the bed, tugging down the covers and smoothing out the sheets. He pounded the center of my pillow and then motioned to the bed. I shuffled into the sheets and Oliver pulled the comforter over my body, his hand lingering to probably toy with my hair or something of a similar fashion, but thought better of it. I remembered a time when I'd been dreadfully sick and Fred had popped over to feed me soup in bed. Bad timing, to say the least.

"Stay as long as you want," he offered, boyish hope crossing his cheekbones.

The bed was much softer than when I'd previously occupied it. Sleep slammed my body like a good sucker punch. My limbs felt loose and gooey, like yogurt and fruit thrown into a blender. My eyelids began to droop and the lights seemed hazy, as though someone had thrown a veil over them. I suppose the day's events had extracted all of the fight out of me. I was a shell that needed to regenerate.

"I would if I could," I mumbled, my tongue thick.

The last thing I saw was his smile and then I welcomed the chokehold of exhaustion. When I woke up, Oliver was laying next to me. My head was nearly buried in his chest and his arm was lazily slung across my waist, fingers waiting for the approval to curl around my side. It felt more like the defensive grip of a big brother, rather than a potential lover. All right, so maybe it was a bit too intimate to classify it as a sibling relationship, but it certainly wasn't in the same league as….a certain past boyfriend.

I didn't want to wait until he woke up, because then I would be faced with the awkwardness of the "morning-after." Well, maybe a distorted version of the morning-after, since we didn't do anything that would warrant humiliation. I scribbled a quick note and then aparated back to my own flat.

After eating breakfast and showering, I zipped off to work, awake though strangely buzzed, as though I'd doused too many espressos in a five minute interval. And at this very moment, I'm hiding out in the break room, writing down the misadventures of the previous night, and scarfing down this package of chocolate chip cookies I found.

Reviewing these notations, I have now decided that I should try to pursue Oliver Wood. Yes, that Oliver Wood, former captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team. I am ten kinds of crazy for even thinking this is a good idea, but I've run out of alternatives. Oliver is a good guy, the type of guy any girl would bend over backwards to get. The type of guy I don't normally fall for, but the type of guy I know I should reconsider for my own good. Frederick Weasley is a loser and can have Lavender Brown.

See if I care.

* * *

**June 12**

**Flat** **(My own)**

* * *

Of all the people in England, my MOTHER sent me an owl. She demanded that I come over for lunch, since we hadn't seen each other in "forever." So after much hemming and hawing, I popped over, expecting a tongue lashing. My mother has eyes like a cat, peeping out from behind an overgrown bush, just ready to pounce when you show a moment of weakness. It doesn't matter the size of the prey, as long as they have the ignorance to match. She's fearless because she's not fearless at all and over the years, we've done our fair share of bickering.

Unlike the fights I used to have with Fred, these mother/daughter spats did not end with laughter and hugs. She was impatient for the two of us to tie the knot; she complained that we'd been together for too long to just not make a commitment. I suspect she's always been predicting the failure of our relationship, though she's too proud to ever admit that. She's a funny sort of woman and the more I dwell upon the complexity of her character, I unfortunately know that I get my tendency for mixed emotions from her. I am as much my mother's daughter, as much as I am a Daddy's girl.

"Oh, hello dear! You look nice. C'mon into the kitchen, I just made a batch of congo squares. I got the recipe from Aunt Keira? I want to know what you think of them. I followed the instructions exactly," she vowed.

I nodded and obediently trailed after her, leaving the living room and marching into the spotless kitchen. There was a neat array of pictures on the fridge, cemented to the metal by bright magnets. A calendar was taped to the right side of the fridge, a large To-Do List on the left side. A tea kettle rested on the back burner of the stove, a Dalí painting above it. The air smelled of spices and vanilla sugar, a maroon tray of fresh congo squares sitting on the forest green countertop. It felt nice to be home, yet the unavoidable conversation with my Mother spoiled my bliss.

"Well, go on and try one. You'll hurt my feelings if you don't," she kidded.

"All right, all right, calm down," I said.

I picked up one of the baked goods, paused to study its rough surface and then took a hearty bite. Fortunately, the mixture of coconut, chocolate chips, nuts, and batter created a pleasant explosion of richness in my mouth. The last time I ate something my Mother had decided to bake, I'd gotten a stomach ache for two days. It's not that she's a terrible cook; she can't bake pastries or desserts. For some odd reason, whenever she decides to dabble into this side of the culinary arts, she creates inedible weapons fit to tear a hole in your throat.

"So, what's the verdict?"

"They taste great! I'm amazed."

She grinned and took one for herself.

"That's a relief. So sit down, tell me what's going on in your life. Holden mentioned something about Katie's wedding? He said you were nervous?" she eagerly hinted.

Ah, so THAT was the reason for her urgent post.

I knew I was meant to elaborate and reveal my anxieties about seeing Fred. Holden's been known to open his big mouth around our Mom, but I knew he had the decency to at least omit the part about my ex-boyfriend. However, this courtesy was even worse, as it forced me to either tell the truth or make up some flowery lie. Both were hard to do when my Mother was the target of deception.

"He's just making a big deal out of nothing. Katie and Lee are getting married the 20th. I'm going to be a bridesmaid."

She furrowed her brow, those feline eyes contradicting the maternal concern stenciled onto her face.

"Ok, so then why are you nervous?"

"Fred's going to be there," I further clarified.

"Weasley?"

I sighed, already aggravated, though we'd barely spoken.

"Yes, Mum! What other Fred would be talking about?" I seethed.

"There's no need to snap at me, I was just asking a simple question. How am I supposed to know who you're talking about? For all I know, you could be talking about someone else," she justified, nose in the air.

"Ok, well, considering the circumstances, you would have been safe to assume that it'd be Fred Weasley. Who, by all accounts, is the first and last reason why I'm hesitant to attend the ceremony."

"Angelina! You wouldn't dare miss the wedding, just because of that Weasley character! She's one of your best friends, you have a responsibility," my mom declared with slight outrage.

"Hold your horses. Of course I'm going to go. I never said I wouldn't, now did I? I just said that I'm nervous because I don't want to run into Fred. It's bad enough seeing him out and about on the street. But at the wedding I won't be able to leave."

She relaxed, the muscles in her face not so tense, as though someone had pulled them downward with a string.

"Honey, I think you're blowing this out of proportion. It's just for one day. After that, you can forget all about him. I still think he was out of line for enlisting without telling you first. Your Father never had a problem with him, but I always had the sinking feeling that you were just too mature for him."

I almost faltered, siding with my Mum, attacking Fred because it would boost my own ego. In the end, I stuck up for him.

"Don't you see, that's the problem? I _can't_ forget about him. If I had been able to forget about him, I wouldn't be sitting here, complaining about him. I can badmouth him all I want, but there was a time when I did love him. And whether you deny it or not, he loved me too."

My Mum sighed, looking down at the nibbled corner of her baked good.

"I know he did, sweetie. But where is he now? I hate to dampen the mood, but it kills me to hear you still defend him. He left, Angelina. Went off to war and left you wondering when you would pick up the paper and read his name in the casualty list. What kind of person would do that to someone they love? To put them through that? When Holden went off to war, my nerves were shot. Everyday I worried about him and I had a general idea of where he was. You, on the other hand, didn't have any knowledge about Fred's whereabouts. Does that sound like the actions of someone who's deeply in love?" she sternly demanded.

I didn't answer, but chose to devour the rest of my congo square with painful precision. My Mum and I chatted for a bit more and then I said I had to get home. Once I arrived back at my flat, I went into the kitchen and rummaged through the drawers. I located a bit of parchment and then snatched a quill. I must have stared at that blank piece of paper for five minutes, before I threw out my reserve and scribbled down the sentence.

_I'm sorry._

There was nothing more I wanted to say, nothing more I needed to say. I folded up the paper, sealed it, and then looked at the clock. It was late afternoon, which meant he'd still be at work. Away my owl went, soaring through my open window and into the fading skyline, Holly's chocolate wings refusing to blend with the muted palate of the horizon.

I watched her go until she was a black speck and then put the kettle on the stove. I could probably have magically conjured a hot mug of tea, but then I would have to look for something else to eat up the time. It seemed like only five minutes had slipped by when I heard the crack. I poured the steaming water over my tea bag and then turned around, face passive as though to indicate my willingness to compromise.

"Angie, what's the meaning of this?"

The note was clutched in his hand, expression contorted into something a bit ugly, as though he were floundering between the choices of pure happiness and cynicism.

"Well hello to you too," I replied, sipping my drink.

Fred rolled his eyes.

"Enough with the banter. Why'd you write this?"

I sighed.

"I think it's pretty self-explanatory. Look, I was thinking about our argument at Alicia's flat and I felt terrible about it. I hate arguing with you; you should know that by now."

He mulled this over, taking his time coming to my side.

"Seems like all we do is fight. I never expected our reunion to be….carefree or anything," Fred logically replied.

"I don't hate you," I clarified.

He chuckled, throwing out an easy-going smile.

"That's comforting to hear. You should be pleased to know that I don't hate you either."

I laughed, setting down my mug on the countertop against my back.

"I think that you act like a git sometimes and have the uncanny ability to be obnoxiously selfish, but on the whole, I don't hate you. Not in the least bit," I lithely added.

"Oh, well, now that you put it that way, maybe I should take back my initial reaction."

"Oh, heavens no! Take my aside as a compliment," I suggested.

He chuckled.

"Listen…I was just about to grab some lunch. Do you…want to come with me?"

Before I could respond, another loud **CRACK** rattled in my ears.

"Angie? You here?" Oliver called from the living room.

Fred's hopeful grin twisted into a smirk and he moved away from me.

"I guess that's a no."

I held up a hand in protest.

"Fred, no, it's fine. I'll just tell Oliver-"

Fred shook his head, now determined to leave without me.

"No, don't bother. See you around."

With a snarling snap, Fred disappeared just as Oliver walked through the doorframe. He looked around, studying the room as though I'd mentioned there was a trick wall or a false door.

"Was I interrupting something? I thought I just heard someone aparate."

I fervently shook my head and sipped my forgotten tea, gazing down into the olive colored water. I heard a familiar hoot and realized Holly had returned. I met his eyes and painted on a jovial smile, though I suddenly felt very drowsy and haggard.

"It was nobody."


	9. The Kill

_You cannot quit me_

_So quickly - Dave Matthews Band_

* * *

**June 15**

* * *

**Local Coffee Shop**

* * *

Oliver and I were lounging on my couch today, his arm around my shoulder, my head affectionately digging into his neck. We haven't brought up the kiss and we've assured all of our mates that what you see is what you get. But we were lying much too close to indicate solely platonic sentiment. I don't know how I feel about him anymore. Oliver, that is.

As the days go by, the line between friendship and _something more_ starts to blur. I don't want to fancy him, but I can't come up with a valid defense why I shouldn't. I don't love him, but I think I could. But do I want to? At the moment, not really. I don't think I'm even ready to start a new relationship. I've still got a lot of baggage that I haven't sorted through; I'm a mess. And Oliver doesn't deserve to get caught in the middle of my whirlwind. I'd feel awful if I let him.

I'd put a record on, something slow and pensive performed by a female singer that obviously plowed through a pack of cigarettes a day. Oddly enough, it fit perfectly with the mood. Lying with Oliver reminded me of Fred. Especially nights in the common room, when we'd claim the couch in front of the fire, talking into all hours of the night. I'd felt so warm and loved and protected in his arms, eyes watching the dance of the flames, oblivious to what was occurring outside of the Hogwarts walls. No matter what I do, no matter where I go, I will always miss him. Even if we finally move on with our lives, a part of me will always belong to him.

Oliver had his eyes closed, his lean frame suddenly more muscular than I'd ever remembered. Due to the proximity of Katie's wedding, we started discussing marriage.

"So, what do you suppose the point of marriage is?" he mused.

"What kind of question is that? To become joined. Mind and body and soul and all of that crap. To live in marital bliss," I teased.

Oliver chuckled, the vibrations from his throat tickling my skin.

"Well, aren't you the optimist."

I brushed a lock of hair away from his forehead, my fingers a bit icy, though my body temperature was alarmingly warm.

"When you put it that way, it sounds so negative. I'm a realist. Practical," I corrected.

"Cynical is more like it. Anyway, I only ask because it never made sense to me. Yes, I guess it's the final step of commitment. Pledging your infinite fidelity and all of that. But what does saying a vow have to do with loving someone? You love who you love. Do you need a piece of paper to make it real?"

"I understand what you mean. Seems silly to go through the trouble of planning a wedding, spending all of that money, just to prove to everyone that you're in love. It's like, the bigger the ceremony, the more they're trying to convince themselves that it's the real deal."

"No, no, small or large, the actual ceremony ordeal doesn't bother me. It's tradition, you see. Nothing wrong with a bit of tradition. I just don't know what the _point_ is. I understand the how, I just don't know the definite _why_. I guess I'm not making too much sense," Oliver fumbled.

"Some weddings can be quite beautiful, you know. Yes, sounds strange coming from the resident cynic. I'm on the fence. It hurts too much to believe. Maybe that's why I act like I'm against it."

"Loving someone forever is an awfully long time."

"We don't have forever, anyway," I reminded.

"If I found the right girl, I imagine it wouldn't be hard. But what are the odds of that? Nearly impossible. I think people miss out on love because they're too busy looking for it."

I nodded in agreement.

"Everyone is looking for the right person. The right girl, the right guy. But who's to say what's right and what's wrong? Of course, no one wants someone that will treat them poorly. But if attraction can't keep people together, then what else can? Maybe the _wrong_ person is the right person, because they're so wrong, it keeps you from feeling bored or restless. Or trapped," I theorized.

He laughed again and suddenly I felt foolish, like I'd said too much. Like a little girl that's recently mastered how the weather works and feels compelled to explain it to anyone in a ten mile radius.

"For someone that doesn't like to ponder matrimony, you've got a lot of opinions."

"Well, what do you expect? You asked," I argued, cheeks flushing.

"And you're absolutely right…"

A pause.

"Angelina?"

Something in his voice caught my attention and I twisted my gaze upward. With endearing hesitation, Oliver leaned down and kissed me. There was nothing urgent in this kiss, something soft and gentle, not meant to knock me off my feet, but to set me back on the ground.

"Promise me something," he whispered.

His finger traced the contours of my jaw.

"What?" I asked.

He grinned, much like a small boy that is about to say something witty and already knows of his creativity.

"If we get to be about fifty, and we're still not married, we should just go ahead and marry each other."

I laughed, ruffling his hair.

"Now who's the cynic? Nevertheless, sounds like an ace plan."

"So you'll save me from a possible lifetime of lonely bachelorhood and forlorn isolation and become Mrs. Oliver Wood? All things considered, of course."

"Lonely bachelorhood? I thought all you blokes loved the single life," I replied.

"Ah, yes, well that's a misconception. It's not so lovely when you come home to an empty bed and an empty flat. Then you start thinking that bachelorhood isn't so grand," he clarified.

I was silent, fully understanding the concept of loneliness.

* * *

**June 16**

* * *

**Office**

* * *

Mum sent another OWL, pestering me about Lee and Katie's wedding. Haven't decided whether or not I'll write back. Let her wonder. Then again, if I don't scratch up something as soon as possible, she'll be sure to send about a dozen more letters. My Mum lives vicariously through the mishaps of her children, especially me. She somehow thinks that we're best mates and I can tell her anything.

When I say "best mates," I mean in the same way that I confide in Katie and Alicia. She is my Mother, for Merlin's sake. And with that obligation in mind, there are just some things I prefer to hide. Other people have perfectly functional relationships with their Mum. On the contrary, the fact that my Mum tries way too hard to be a "buddy" is bloody annoying.

When she's not playing this role, she's playing The Enforcer. She feels that her age thus indicates her limitless wisdom and therefore tries to run my life. There are the rare moments when she discards the pretense and I get to talk and she listens. But these incidents are random and unexpected. I need to talk to Alicia and subtly ask if George has mentioned anything about Fred and Lavender….

I shouldn't care. And I don't. I just find it interesting. I'm running a pool with Alicia. She gives them about 3 months to last, I've decided to generously allow them a month and a half. I'm sure Fred will stick around for her AHEM bedroom gymnastics. But then he'll probably get sick of her and those thirty minutes in the backroom will lose all meaning. Or at least, I hope.

* * *

**June 19**

* * *

**Flat**

* * *

**In A State Of Hyperventilation And Shock**

**Proceed This Entry With Caution**

* * *

Oh my. I can't believe what's happened in the past few days. No matter how much it hurts to record, I'm going to continue anyway. I need to write down the details, recount the damage, in order to prove that it's real. That it happened. That I'm not dreaming.

I was at Alicia's flat, shooting the breeze over a good cup of tea. All of a sudden, there was a huge CRACK right in the middle of the living room. Fred appeared, blocking my view of Alicia. I instantly squirmed in my seat, our last encounter flashing to mind. Alicia automatically clamed up, her eyes widening. Fred glared at me and then quickly faced Alicia.

"Sorry to disrupt. George said you wouldn't mind. I just need to grab our balance book. The idiot left it in the bedroom. I won't take more than a minute," he grumbled.

Before Alicia could blink, Fred was thundering down the hall. When he was out of ear shot, Alicia turned to me, her face charged with the anticipation of a blowout.

"Is he still mad about Ollie?" she hissed, in an obnoxiously discreet voice that rivaled her speaking volume.

I rolled my eyes, setting my tea on the adjacent table.

"Yes and would you stop whispering? It's not working," I suggested.

"Did-"

But she was cut off, as Fred reappeared. A thick, leather-bound book was in his right hand. Alicia bit her lip, gazing at me with an embarrassing amount of pity that made me appreciate her friendship even more. No one spoke and I refused to meet his eyes, internally building a brick wall surrounded by a chain-link fence. Unfortunately, this drew my attention to the collar of his button-down. Which was stained with bright pink lipstick. Bright pink like Lavender's bubblegum. Sickeningly bright, like her lip gloss.

"Well, I'll be going now. The store's pretty busy," he commented.

"Wow, I hope Lavender is managing. Then again, I'm sure she's a skilled worker. You taught her everything she needs to know, right?"

Alicia groaned. Fred turned his back on Alicia, hovering over me like a lethal boxer ready to pounce.

"Oh, she's a quick learner. But she likes to practice, you know? Practice does make perfect. But I'm sure you can understand. Those grueling sessions with Oliver must take a lot out of you."

I stood up, anger skyrocketing.

"No, in fact, Oliver and I can keep at it for hours!" I shrilly snapped.

Fred smirked.

"Well, as a matter of fact, Lavender loves when the store is busy. She's a great multi-tasker. _Amazing_, really. She just blows my mind with her efficiency. She's so eager to please me."

I shoved a finger in his chest.

"You know, you've got some nerve-"

"Wait a minute, YOU started it! And I didn't even say anything remotely crude."

"Oh, right, right. Whatever! You're the one that comes sauntering in here, UNNAOUNCED, with LIPSTICK smears all over his clothes!"

Fred looked down at the front of his shirt, bewildered.

"I haven't got any-"

Alicia started to intervene. "Guys, please-"

"Right there, on your collar, you blind prat!" I hollered.

He glanced at the distinct spot and then chuckled. Something wicked skittered across his face, tugging at the corners of his mouth, adding a mean glint to his eyes.

"Whoops. Lavender must have gotten carried away in the store room. We usually shag during breaks. Limber is an understatement."

I put my hands to my ears, pressing so hard that I felt the bones. Fred was a sniper and I'd just gotten shot down. I could smell the smoke. A fire would soon ignite and swallow my body, burn it to an even crisp.

"Stop it! You're revolting!"

Fred roughly grabbed my hands and pinned them to my sides. The balance book crashed to the floor with a thump.

"That's what you wanted to hear, isn't it? You want me to start going on and on about how I'm shagging Lavender, so I'll be the bad guy!"

I wanted to cry, but I didn't want to look vulnerable. I turned to Alicia, about to break.

"I'm so sorry Leesh, but I'm going home."

"It's all right, Angie. I'll see you later."

"Oh you're not getting away _that_ easy! I'm sick of running around in circles. I'm not done talking to you!" Fred seethed.

I ripped my wrists out of his hands and recoiled, as though he were a poisonous snake.

With surprising clarity and icy detachment, I whispered, "Fuck off, Frederick."

With a thunderous CRACK, I aparated into my apartment. I suppose I shouldn't have revealed my escape plan, as the second I solidified in my own bedroom, Fred appeared like a raging bull.

"We're not finished!" he barked.

"Finished? You've made it perfectly clear that finished is exactly what we are!" I insisted.

"No, I never said that! You avoid everything and I want confrontation. You say we're finished only because you don't want to talk about it!"

"Talk about what? Talk about what, Fred? There's nothing left to talk about!"

Hot tears began to sprout from my eyes, hastily rolling down my cheeks and colliding into fresh droplets. The tears were erratic, like the unsteady drips of a leaky faucet. We were kamikaze pilots and we were aiming for one another. Down, down, we wanted to go, down in a ball of flames, the dying engine whistling as it barreled towards the ground. I was seeing red and blue simultaneously, needing to run, knowing this was not the moment to flee the scene.

"There's plenty to talk about."

"Such as?"

The volume of his voice decreased, husky and gravely, as though he'd been screeching non-stop into a glass jar for the past three hours.

"You. And your refusal to deal with anything that makes you uncomfortable. Your childish need to hold a grudge. Your jealousy. Me. The fact that I can't stand you with Oliver. The fact that I want to hate you sometimes, but I'm far from it. Us. The fact that we still act like there's an _us_ to fight about."

"I'm not jealous!"

Fred rolled his eyes.

"Denial. Another form of evidence."

"What would I have to be jealous about?"

"Stop playing the High and Mighty Card. I can see right through you, honey," he sneered.

"You're the one who's jealous!"

"How the hell am I supposed to act, Angelina? You've got Oliver on a string-"

"That's bullocks!"

"And you know it. You're mad that I might be seeing Lavender. So, you're using Oliver to get back at me."

"YOU'RE SEEING LAVENDER?" I demanded.

He grabbed my shoulders, giving them a little shake.

"NO! And for the last time, NO!"

"Then why do you have her lipstick stain on your shirt?" I persisted.

"Look, just because she's not my girlfriend-"

"I _knew_ it! You really are a disgust-"

"Let me bloody finish!"

"-ing, chauvinistic, arrogant, PIG!" I screamed.

I started to storm toward the door, but Fred latched onto my forearm and whipped me around like a leaf in a tornado.

"I don't love her! But what did you expect me to do? Sit around and wait? I've always told you how I felt! You know that!"

I was near hysterics now.

"God dammnit, Fred! YES! YES, you were supposed to wait! I sat around and WAITED when you dropped out of school! I sat around and WAITED for you to come home from the war, thinking that you'd been blown to pieces! I sat around and WAITED for years, for you to finally notice that I was an actual GIRL with feelings and a heart, who happened to be crazy about you! Maybe I got sick of waiting!"

"You didn't give me a choice! You didn't hear me out! I wanted to do something good, to protect my family, to protect you!" he yelled.

I didn't have time to deliberate, my passions had taken control. Later, I would stupidly realize that he was right and his defense was quite logical.

"There's always a choice! You could have stayed. What was so bad about that? You just wanted to be the hero, that's all!"

"Just shut up, Angel, just shut up," he threatened, advancing with menacingly slow steps.

"NO! I won't shut up! This is my fucking flat, so if you don't want to hear me talk, then get the fuck out!" I ferociously ordered, thrusting my finger horizontal and in direction of the open door.

Suddenly, he stopped. We were so close that my nose was grazing the tip of his nose. He was breathing heavy, his chest swelling and falling with each hearty hit of oxygen. His cheeks were splashed with a strawberry hue, his freckles awkwardly standing out and almost popping out of his skin. My tears littered the floor and absorbed into the carpet, my body sagging. And just like that, I was being slammed into the wall, my arms instinctively wrapping around his shoulders, his lips mashing into my shaky mouth.

I pressed my hips into his pelvis, my hands tugging at his hair, his hands impatiently tugging at my T-shirt. Our kisses were frantic as though it would be the last time we'd ever touch. Desperation saturated the air, infesting the silence and stimulating the tension. My head was swimming, my thoughts a jumble of pictures and forgotten memories. I was finally attacking loneliness itself, impelling my sword into its chest.

I wanted more of him, even though there was nothing else to physically obtain. He lifted me up and steadily began to shuffle backwards to the bed. I wrapped my legs around his waist and found myself tumbling into the pillows, spine colliding with the sheets. Off flew my shirt and off flew his shirt. I pulled him to me, inhaling his scent, running my fingers down his back, following the grooves of his muscles. In that moment, the rest of the world did not exist. There was only the here and the now, a now which I yearned to stretch out as long as possible.

I shuddered as his warm breath hit the inside of my ear, shuddered as his mouth lovingly conquered my neck, and shuddered as his hand lazily glided down my bare side. Deep down, I knew that nothing good would come of this. Call it a premonition, if you must. But I was just so overwhelmed that I ignored it. I was crying and smiling at the same time, my jeans kicked onto the floor. I can't quite explain my torrent of emotions, but I can weakly try with inadequate metaphors and similes.

It's like this: Have you ever run a very long distance? Run a very long distance that you weren't prepared for in the least? You know the feeling. The sensation tingles in your toes, traveling through your veins, the tips of your fingers, until it slams into your chest. Your ribs crack each time you inhale, poking your intestines. You want to throw up. You want to stop, but you know you've got to keep going until you see the finish line and break the yellow tape. So you do and you start to panic, because black spots zigzag in front of your eyes and you feel sick, but you feel high and your body is feeding off your energy, suddenly alive and young and new, like a fresh battery.

Some call it runner's high.

Well, that was precisely how I felt as Fred kissed me and we both began to lose clothing. And then, when it was all over, and we were silent, simply staring at one another, my dread reappeared with full force. I'd forgotten how well I fit into his arms. He smiled at me, his eyelids drooping. I put my fingers to his lips, pulled them back, knowing what I had to do. I'd screwed up. I should have walked away, known that it was finished.

Everything would not go back to normal once we left this room. In fact, things would get more complicated. How could rekindle my relationship with Fred, when I was still a great big mess? The problems we had before wouldn't just disappear. In fact, they would take another form, frightening and larger than life. It'd always been Fred and me, me and Fred. Were we only clinging on because we were too afraid to be alone? Because we were too afraid of the unknown? To continue wrapped in his arms would be unfair. Maybe….

"Fred, I didn't plan for this to happen," I began.

Choose your words wisely, hand-craft your sentences, pretend that you're stronger than you appear. Pretend that you're not breaking, your ribs suddenly swords slicing into your skin. And you can feel the blood, but nothing comes out. And then you realize this awful bomb of exhaustion is all in your mind. Right next to your mental keepsakes, the one that has captured his smile and the texture of his hair.

He chuckled.

"I didn't either. But it was a nice surprise."

I shifted in the bed, tugging the sheets closer to my body. My heart was pounding, my throat dry.

"See, the thing is…I just can't lie to you."

Worry drenched his brow, removing his arm from my waist.

I am a horrible person.

I am rotten, right down to the core.

I don't know how to tell the truth, because I'm afraid of the aftermath.

The afterglow was beginning to fade and I felt an ache.

"Angel, what are you talking about?" he questioned.

"I'm in love with Oliver."


	10. The Awful Truth

**A/N: **Wow, I'm glad to see your very animated responses! Haha. I think that some of you are giving Oliver a bad wrap. I don't think he's a bad guy. He may be flawed and a bit naïve, but I don't think he's a bad person. As one of my writing professors once said, love a character or hate him, it doesn't matter. Even if you hate him, he/she can still be a good, well-developed character. Anyway, many of you are wondering why Angelina told Fred she's in love with Oliver. I could explain, but I think it'd be better if she said it in her own words….

* * *

**June 19**

* * *

**Flat**

* * *

I took a break. My hand was beginning to cramp. However, the next part of the saga is just as unpleasant as the exchange with Fred.

Alicia and Katie looked like they were going to kill me.

"YOU'RE IN LOVE WITH OLIVER?" Alicia screeched.

We were sitting in Katie's flat. After the disaster with Fred, I went over to Katie's. Lee was out with the boys, probably enjoying his last night of bachelorhood. I started to tell Katie everything. It was about midnight, but Katie sent an OWL to Alicia. Less than two minutes later, the three of us were in the kitchen.

The living room was littered with extra boxes of invitations, papers, high heels, and evening bags. It was funny to think that tomorrow; my best friend would be getting married. And yet, here I was, slurping tea (with a hint of Firewhiskey), complaining about my love life. I felt kind of selfish, demanding all the attention. We should have been out celebrating, gossiping and having a laugh.

"No, I-"

"THEN WHY THE BLOODY HELL DID YOU TELL FRED YOU ARE?" Katie yelled.

I thought back to a few days prior. I recalled how our heated argument had transformed into a kiss and then that kiss had lead to something more. I hadn't meant to hurt Fred, but the confession had been automatic. The look on Fred's face spoke volumes. In fact, the impulse to speak had been killed so thoroughly, that he left. I watched as he gathered his clothes and put them back on. Finally realizing the damage I'd inflicted, I started to plead.

"Fred, wait, don't go. Let me explain," I insisted.

I sat upright, tugging the sheets around my body. His hair was rumpled, his clothes wrinkled.

"I can't look at you right now," he flatly replied.

With a loud CRACK, he vanished.

It took me a minute to comprehend that he'd just left, probably to never return. A tear blossomed in the corner of my eye. I blinked and the liquid stuck to my lashes. Suddenly, a river was roaring down my cheeks. I felt lower than low, absolutely awful. Angrily throwing back the sheet, I jumped into the shower. I turned the nozzle full blast, shoulders shuddering, my throat too dry to emanate sound. I did not love Oliver, but wanted to love him, but knew I could **not**. I wanted to displace my feelings for Fred because I'm afraid and I'm mixed up and sometimes, I just want to be free.

I just want to travel back in time, when things weren't so complicated. When my biggest worries were earning good marks and getting Fred to glance my way. When I thought a major crisis entailed frizzy hair and attracting the fascination of exchange students. A time when I could kiss him and think that being sixteen could last forever. But maybe things were never easy. Maybe it was always uncomplicated and my memory is just distorting the facts.

The truth is, I miss Fred. I miss him when he's right next to me. Gazing into his eyes, my lips still pleasantly stinging, I felt responsible. Responsible for our fall out and responsible for driving him into Lavender's arms. I didn't know how he could forgive me. And I was afraid that once we'd made amends, I'd screw up again. I am exhausted of hoping and wishing, only to be disappointed. Do soul mates really exist? Is it all talk, just propaganda intended for the most foolish of fools?

All of this, naturally, doesn't make sense on paper. I sound like a complete idiot or perhaps a tad bit psychotic. But is it possible to care for someone so much and so deeply, that you can't bear to actually be with them? Why does everything have to be so passionate with him?

Surely, it's not healthy to approach your arguments with the same amount of zeal as your displays of affection? It can be draining. You become stir-crazy, scheming up escape routes and sabotage. It's like in order to prove that we love one another, we have to hurt each other. Couples have their ups and downs, but our middle ground is more like the rise before the fall, the meticulous incline that leads to the drop.

I took another swallow of tea before responding.

"I was…exhausted. And mixed up," I slowly explained.

"Exhausted? What does that have to do with anything?" Alicia demanded.

"Look, sometimes love isn't enough. And…I'm tired, Alicia. We're always trying to find ways to scar one another. I keep thinking to myself, maybe it's time I let him go."

"But you guys have been together since Hogwarts!" Katie protested.

How horrible it was, to be criticizing the strength of love and the purpose of monogamy, when your best mate was about to get married. It was cruel, to be revealing all of my anxieties and disbelief, when Katie had such faith in the institution. And yet, I wanted them to understand and pledge their allegiance. I wanted them to smile with enlightenment and agree. I knew it was a useless effort, but I plunged forward.

I nodded, absorbing their outrage as though it were sunlight. I turned to Katie.

"That's the point. How am I supposed to know if we're supposed to be together? I've never been with anyone else. Fred has always been such a big part of my life. But…it would be unfair if we stayed together, just out of tradition."

"Angelina. You're not making any sense. Are you even listening to the garbage you're saying? You and Fred are both hot-heads. That's the only reason why you clash. You know he loves you. Why are you trying so hard to disprove it?"

"But what about Oliver?" I timidly asked.

"What _about_ Oliver?" Alicia barked.

"Shouldn't I give him a chance? He's a nice guy. You both know that. Maybe it's better that I start something with him? And Fred's got Lavender."

Alicia was absolutely livid.

"This isn't the time to rekindle some sort of schoolyard crush on the Qudditich captain. If you were meant to be with Oliver, then something would have happened a long time ago."

"But-"

Alicia shook her head.

"No. You know what your problem is? You want things to come easy."

"Alicia-" Katie interrupted, placing her hand on Alicia's slender forearm. She probably thought Alicia would lose her cool and start shouting. Alicia gritted her teeth, her words clipped and fiery, though never increasing in volume.

"No Katie, let me speak. I think this is absolute bollocks, I really do. Do you realize what you've done? How stupid you acted? This isn't some sort of game, Angelina. Not only have you strung along Oliver, but you've got your paws on Fred. You can't pick and choose, depending on your mood. You over analyze everything, to the point that it drives you mental. You can't just accept things for face value. You've got this annoying habit of picking it apart. When it comes to Fred, YOU are the only girl that's ever mattered. End of story."

"Since when did you become an advocate of Fred?" I sneered.

She was right and my natural reaction was to become defensive.

"Since you started acting like a heartless moron," Alicia snapped.

"Girls, please. May I remind you that TOMORROW I will be getting married? For my sake, I need you to act at least civil," Katie ordered, hoping that her taunt would lighten the mood.

"I'm sorry Kates, but the truth is the truth. Don't deny it, I know you think Angelina is acting like a wanker."

I scowled, guzzling the rest of my spiked tea.

"Well, I think wanker is a strong word. However, I _do_ think she could have handled the situation better. I doubt an apology is going to make him forgive you," Katie reasoned.

"I made a mess of things, I know. But maybe it's better. I feel like Fred brings out this need to self-destruct. Like I've got a panic button inside me. I miss him and yet, I feel like the only thing we're good at is screwing things up. And I didn't mean to bring Oliver into this mess, but at that point, I thought Fred didn't want anything to do with me. He was jealous, sure, but it's a territorial thing. He had Lavender and I didn't want to get my hopes up."

"You know, Lee cheated on me once."

Alicia and I stared at Katie, dumbfounded.

"You never told us that," Alicia noted.

Katie shrugged.

"Oh, it wasn't that big of a deal. It was right after we got out of school. We got into a fight, said some things we shouldn't have said. He went out to a pub and that was that."

"Well, what happened?" I questioned.

"I took him back, of course."

"Ha, and the both of you think _I'm _stupid one!" I hissed.

"What made you decide to give him another shot?" Alicia wondered, ignoring my triumphant glee.

"Because he was the one who told me. And I figured, he didn't _have_ to admit it. I never would have known. But any coward could do that. I thought it was quite brave of him to come clean, especially since he knew I had the upper hand. It was a possibility that I could have broken things off for good, hated him for the rest of my life and the like. And he had come back, didn't he? He makes me happy. It'd be pointless to hate him; we'd both be miserable."

"Yeah, well, if George told me he shagged some bimbo, I'd-"

"Fred told me he slept with Lavender," I whispered.

Katie and Alicia glanced at each other.

"Well…can you really blame him?" Alicia snidely replied.

"I've never been with anyone else. I never even wanted to. I just didn't see the point."

At this, both were silent.

"There's no time left, is there?" I stoically observed.

Katie shook her head.

"There's always time."


	11. Shiver And Shake

**June 20**

* * *

I was humming underneath my breath and Alicia was ready to commit manslaughter.

"Goin to the chapel and I'm…goin to get married," I chanted.

"Can you shut up with that blasted song? It's getting annoying," she hissed.

I fidgeted with my dress, examining my bouquet. Katie had chosen an arrangement of lilies, forget-me-nots, and baby's breath. It was quaint and simple, though still very pretty. I must have gained a few pounds since the final fitting, because for some reason, the dress was a bit snug. Then again, it hadn't helped that the disaster with Fred fueled a binge of two boxes of chocolates and a sleeve of double-fudge cookies.

Honestly, maybe I should become a nun. Every time I have relationship problems, or problems with the male population, I end up pigging out. If I keep this up, they'll need a crane to lift me out of the flat. I'd explained this to Katie, while we were sitting in the salon and getting our hair done. It was quite early in the morning and Katie hadn't devoured her normal five cups of caffeine. Let's just say, she didn't see the humor in my fears and called me "a hallucinating worry-wart." She should be happy with her wedding present; along with a top-notch espresso machine, I've included about five bags of ground coffee.

"Girls, please!" Katie begged.

She looked absolutely stunning. Her strapless dress flaunted her slender shoulders and long neck. The top half was free of any designs. At the bottom hemline, pearls had been sewn into the fabric, encircling the gown. In the back of the dress, white ribbon laced and tightened the dress, the bow resting at the small of her back. Wishing to differentiate from the bridesmaids, Katie wore her hair down. The hairdresser had curled it into loose waves and then pinned it back with a pearl barrette. Romantic tendrils framed her face, the rest flowing down her back.

Katie preferred minimal makeup, making her eyes the focus of her efforts. Alicia had been the one responsible. Katie didn't want to hire a make-up artist, as they were too expensive. Alicia had chosen to focus her energy on Katie's eyes, making them luminous and enchanting. The dewy, fresh-faced look complimented her fair skin. She looked like a figure from a Renaissance painting, a fair maiden with a crown of flowers, awaiting the return of her Knight. It was all so surreal; my best friend was getting married.

Katie and Lee decided that they wanted the ceremony to be outside. Fortunately, the weather had decided to cooperate. The temperature was warm, though lacking uncomfortable humidity. The clouds filtered the blinding sun; the sky was a rich, robin's egg blue. The area that they'd chosen was a lovely spot in the countryside, which overlooked a steep cliff. The cliff spilled into the ocean, waves crashing against the rocks.

Rows and rows of folding chairs had been set up, divided into two groups. The end chairs had ribbon tied to the legs. A canopy housed the chairs. A separate canopy protected the makeshift altar, which stood safely in front of the cliff. A white carpet had been conjured, acting as the necessary aisle. A small orchestra quartet was positioned to the right of the altar, delicately playing "Wedding March."

The guest list wasn't exceptionally large, though could not classify as miniscule. Family and close relatives had the privilege of front-row seats, everyone else had been seated according to their relationship with the bride and groom. Much to Lee's exasperation, I spotted Roger Davis sitting on Katie's side, chatting with Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter. Even though Ginny and Harry are living together, they constantly deflate any engagement rumors. Yeah, right. We'll see how long they keep up that act.

There was a bed and breakfast a few feet away from the actual wedding spot. Katie had made sure to book the place in advance, so we'd have full advantage of the space. We'd used the building as matrimonial headquarters, so to speak. It was the starting point for the wedding party and the bride and groom. The men were gathered in a separate room with Lee, while all of the females were milling around upstairs. The day had been quite hectic, what with getting dressed and getting our hair fixed. I'd barely gotten the chance to talk to Oliver, let alone bump into Fred. Then again, that wasn't a bad thing. Unfortunately, I'd seen Lavender, wearing far too much makeup, which totally betrayed the demure elegance of her dress. Some people really try too hard.

It was about two minutes until show time and Katie was freaking out. Alicia and I were attempting to comfort Katie, but this seemed to encourage her vexation.

"What if I trip? This bloody train is about the length of a killer whale! My Mum would never let me live it down. And Merlin, my cousin Veronica? The one that used to put Play Dough in my hair? She'd make fun of me for eternity!" she frantically babbled.

Alicia looked around the room. She snatched a paper bag that had previously carried someone's lunch. Checking to see if it was empty, she smiled and thrust the bag into Katie's ash-colored face. Katie glared, studying the bag as though it were a baby with six heads.

"And what is this?"

Alicia rolled her eyes.

"What do you think it is? A paper bag," she drawled.

Katie threw up her hands, the paper bag crinkling with the tightening of her fist.

"What the bloody hell do I need a paper bag for!?"

"Follow my instructions. Place the bag against your mouth. And then breathe. You should probably repeat this quite a few times," Alicia smartly advised.

I laughed and then stopped, remembering that this dress didn't accommodate gut-splitting chuckles.

"Oh, sod off," Katie barked.

However, she obeyed Alicia's suggestion and shoved the bag against her mouth. The paper crackled as she inhaled, her staggered breaths mimicking asthmatic asphyxiation. The sight almost made me forget about Fred and Lavender and Oliver. One of the wedding coordinators (all courtesy of Mr. and Mrs. Bell's wallet), popped her head into the doorway. Silence ensued, as everyone snapped to attention. Francis was statuesque, with a swan-like neck and ballerina body. She wore a cream pants-suit, wheat hair pulled into a tight bun.

Francis Gable and Franny Perkins upheld the reputation of the top wedding planners in the entire wizarding community. Just like the Baby Boom in the 1950's, Franny and Francis earned their respect and esteem directly following the end of The War. Chaos had prevented couples from marrying. Once the horror had passed, people were rushing to the altar. It'd become an epidemic. Franny and Francis, best friends since primary school, French by birth, British by naturalization, used the circumstances to their benefit. Soon, their feline eyes and razor cheekbones were gracing the covers of American and European magazines.

"Miss Bell? We're ready to begin," Francis sweetly cooed.

Static erupted from her headset and she nodded, pressing the earpiece. A self-automated writing quill had been stuck into her front pocket.

"Right. If we could have the flower girl out in front? And then the bridesmaids in your assigned order. Then Maid of Honor, you're the last of the company," Francis ordered.

There was a great rustling of fabric and the clicking of heels, as we scrambled into place. Katie was still gulping from her breathing apparatus, looking like a fish. The flower girl, one of Katie's younger cousins, wiggled to the front of the line. Despite the lightness of the basket, she furrowed her brow as though it weighed three hundred pounds. I went over to Katie, giving her a warm smile. Gently, I extracted the bag from her hand and issued a quick squeeze. Katie's bottom lip trembled, her eyes darting to the discarded bag.

"My bag," she moaned.

"Katie, you'll be fine. It's time to end your relationship with the sack, despite how heartbreaking it must be. You must say goodbye to the paper bag, despite the five seconds of heaven you've shared. All right, love?" I tenderly commanded.

With an enormous sigh, Katie nodded, meeting my concerned gaze.

"Yes, yes. Go ahead, put down my veil."

I lifted up the lace and lowered the material. I found my spot in line, standing behind Alicia. Someone, most likely Franny, squawked into Francis's ear. Francis clapped her hands together, suddenly adopting the rigidity of a drill sergeant.

"All right people, let's settle down. We've got a wedding to do. Now, if everyone will remember the rehearsals. This will be just another repeat of those, so don't worry. Keep your eyes ahead and remember, small, delicate steps. This isn't a race."

For the most part, rehearsals hadn't been too terrible. The first one had been painfully slow, as everyone was trying to grasp the bombardment of instructions and blocking. After that, it'd become monotonous. Except, there was the time that Lee showed up late and Katie wouldn't come out of the bathroom for forty-five minutes because she was so overwhelmed. And there was that one little incident, when I'd accidentally stepped on Alicia's heel and she'd hurled face forward and barreled into the Minister. Yeah. Despite those tiny blunders, rehearsals had gone splendid. Beautifully. Wonderful.

"Bugger, I've _really_ gotta use the loo. My bladder is going to explode," Alicia muttered.

"Too late now. Just don't think about water. Or oceans. Or rivers. Or-"

"Thanks. You can shut up now."

"Right."

"C'mon, we don't have all day! Let's get this show on the road!" Francis shouted.

Like snails, we shuffled forward. I glanced back at Katie, who was gazing into the distance, her eyes boring into the air like lasers. She stiffly choked her bouquet, heels digging into the lavender carpet. Down the narrow hall we marched, down the oak stairs, the banister elaborate and ornate, like something out of the Old South. We floated out the back door and into the courtyard.

Our escorts were patiently off to the side, pairing off with their designated partners. I saw George tuck Alicia's arm into the crook of his elbow. In his crisp suit and tie, George looked every bit the gentleman. Oliver swiftly materialized to my side, sporting a suave grin that matched the debonair flair of his attire. I smiled and he offered me his arm. I switched the flowers into my left hand.

A wide, gravel lane emptied out into the green countryside. Francis waited by the door, watching the company file away. She was mumbling directions into her headset, quill out and furiously scratching into a notebook. As we approached, the volume of the violins increased. The musicians were swept up in the music, their arms taking lean strides to push the bows, fingers flying over the fingerboards. The crowd had turned in their seats, necks craned to watch the procession. I kept my eyes trained on Alicia's head; I didn't want to find myself looking at Lavender.

We finally reached the altar. Franny hovered towards the front section, eyeing the unfolding of events, smiling as though she were about to open a long awaited Christmas present. We dispersed at the altar, the men bidding a temporary goodbye to the women. Oliver smiled and squeezed my forearm, then joined George.

Fred had been chosen as Best Man; Lee didn't want to personally appoint one. Therefore, he'd flipped a coin and Fred had won. I took one quick, indulgent glance and then stared ahead, over the tops of heads. Lee patiently waited with the Minister, hands folded in front of him. He looked older, displaying a defined maturity. He'd decided to get a buzz-cut for the wedding. It was a refreshing decision and the black fuzz on his head seemed quite appropriate.

Soon, Katie was gliding down the aisle. Red rose petals consumed the ground and she drifted forward, her steps precise, her body moving as though controlled by a trance. Katie finally reached the altar, taking her place beside Lee. He turned to her and smiled, a reflection of their mutual excitement and anxiety. The orchestra stopped, the mellifluous notes echoing throughout the tranquil air. The Minister began the required sermon, prompting the required vows. And before I knew it, Mr. and Mrs. Lee Jordan were engaged in their first kiss as man and wife. The reception would occur in the grand ballroom of a nearby hotel.

The Golden Arms Hotel possessed notably lavish accommodations, especially for a location outside of London. Crystal chandlers dotted the ceiling. The ceiling itself was adorned with oil depictions of the Heavens and rosy angels. On either side of the room, ivory columns added extra sophistication; the overall architecture suggested high-class regality. It was reminiscent of a time of Lords and Ladies, a living tribute to the refined nobles of Jane Austen novels. Katie, envisioning a Cinderella-esque wedding, hired horse-drawn carriages to shuttle all the guests.

When we arrived at The Golden Arms, the buffet was out. The band conducted last-minute tuning, fiddling with their guitars and the stereo equipment. The room hastily swelled with conversation and giddy chatter. A cluster of guests scuttled to the buffet line, snatching plates and greedily eyeing the delectable food. Relatives huddled in clumps, some claiming tables and rehashing the progression of the wedding. Naturally, I found Alicia and we seized a table. Located in the middle of the room, it offered a close proximity to the band, without being right next to the speakers. I hadn't seen Fred since the ceremony. Gazing around the packed ballroom, I was unable to pinpoint that trademark mop of ginger.

"Wasn't that beautiful?" Alicia gushed, plopping into a chair.

The round tables could seat eight, the cream table cloths sweeping to the floor. The centerpiece was a glass rose, the silverware complete with intricate handles. Each plate was decorated with a hand-painted floral design that wrapped around its edge.

"Yes. I thought I was going to cry! Especially when Lee said that he'd loved Katie forever, even when she snores like a Mack truck? Poetry I tell you, poetry."

We both laughed, glad to get off our feet. Everyone started to clap; Alicia and I turned our attention to the dance floor. Katie and Lee were approaching, walking hand in hand. The band had finished their tuning, the singer clutching the microphone. The drummer poised his stick in the arm, impatiently waiting for the cue. The band, selected by Katie and Lee, consisted of a drummer, a bassist, a guitarist and a lead singer.

All of the musicians were young blokes, with the exception of the singer. She was short and curvy, sporting a wine colored cocktail dress. Her purple hair was pulled into a low ponytail, both ears showcasing four studs. The oldest band member couldn't have been older than twenty-five.

"And now, Mr. and Mrs. Jordan will have their first dance."

The drummer tapped out the beat, the bassist followed suit. Next, the guitarist strummed the opening chords and a measure later, the song proceeded. It was a slow number and Katie placed her head on Lee's shoulder. His arms encircled her waist, both of them swaying to the music, oblivious to their surroundings.

"Aw, look how cute they look! I bet Kates took off her heels already," Alicia speculated.

We wistfully studied the pair, who seemed to effortlessly glide across the polished wood. It was a perfect fit; Lee was only a few inches taller than Katie, but her smaller frame snuggled right into Lee's body like a puzzle piece. Suddenly, I felt a light rap on my shoulder. I whirled around and to meet Oliver. He'd loosened his tie and judging from the look in his eye, he wasn't solely thinking about the wedded bliss of Lee and Katie.

"Oy, fancy seeing you, Wood. Have a seat, sit down," Alicia neutrally offered.

I knew that she was still upset about the pending circumstances. However, it wasn't in her nature to be openly malicious to someone, unless the other party deserved it. Oliver was innocent in this ordeal, as I was the one who'd sent him mixed signals. Besides, it would be useless to start an argument now and thus ruin the serenity of the reception.

"Thanks. By the way Alicia, George is looking for you. He's in line for the buffet," Oliver informed.

"I'd better go see what he wants. I'll be back," she chirped.

She rose and issued a stern glance that Oliver failed to catch. I watched as she walked away, weaving through the clumps of people, darting to the other side of the room. I followed her path and automatically spotted George, who seemed to be having an difficult time deciding between the mashed potatoes and the stuffing. Like a radar system, my senses detected another Weasley.

Fred lingered by George's side, a plate in his hand, piled with an assortment of food. His gaze was trained on Lee and Katie, a pensive smile gracing his lips. And in his black, fitted suit, he _was_ every inch the gentleman. George wore his wardrobe like an actor's costume; the illusion would evaporate once the day ended.

However, Fred hadn't adopted this element of pretend. This suave charm was simply a component of his multi-faceted personality that I'd never bothered to appreciate. Perhaps Katie was right, that I had time to make things right, to correct the horrendous blunders I'd set in motion. On the contrary, my pessimistic nature reflexively sneered at this optimistic wish, doubt weighing down my heart.

_Fred, I miss you._

And as though he'd heard my confession, he slowly turned his head. I bit my lip and we locked eyes. His face was completely blank, his mouth neither smiling nor frowning. Alicia had made her way to George. He said something and she rolled her eyes. As though bewitched, I couldn't look away. Fred was a few feet away, but I felt as though he were standing in front of me. I'd come to memorize his face and the freckles that dotted the bridge of his nose, the creases that crinkled around his eyes whenever he laughed. There was a small scar, barely detectable, underneath his chin. And his eyes- as long as I'd live, I'd never forget those eyes.

"Angelina, Angelina. Are you listening?"

Guiltily, I faced Oliver. With furrowed brows, he inched closer, attempting to capture my attention. Katie and Lee had completed their dance. Other couples were flocking to the dance floor, their delighted chatter rivaling the thunder of the band. They'd launched into a faster song and somehow, Katie's capricious laughter floated above the crowd, tinkling like chimes.

"I'm sorry, I was just thinking," I half-fibbed.

"Do you want to dance?" Oliver asked, probably for the third time.

I subtly looked back to the buffet line. George and Alicia were still in line, animatedly whispering to each other. Fred, like a ghostly apparition, had vanished. With a sigh, I plastered a smile on my face, hoping it would pass as genuine.

"I'd love to."

Right on cue, the band finished their upbeat song and drifted into another slow melody. I stepped into Oliver's outstretched arms, obeying his rhythm. The careful inflection of the singer and her smoky voice made me think of falling in love for the first time. I put my chin on Oliver's shoulder, slightly stretching my neck to meet his height. His hand gravitated to the base of my neck but all I could think about was Fred.

"You look gorgeous, by the way," Oliver whispered.

"Thank you."

As he swept me around, I had the strangest sensation of being watched. I scoured the dance floor and singled out the culprit. Fred was dancing with Lavender, holding her close. He was facing forward, Lavender's head backwards. Her dress dipped in the back, exposing the indent of her spine. It was difficult to decipher the expression on his face, strenuous to untangle the jumbled emotions. I felt like he was saying goodbye; the pained look of a drowning man that's decided he's too tired to survive. And despite the hum of outside conversation and the vibrations of the speakers, Fred's silence was the loudest.

Looking at Fred, separated by the sea of bodies and our own stubborn perseverance, I was looking at the man I loved, rather than the boy I'd known. The room was crushing in and I was in the wrong man's arms, dancing with The Right Guy At The Wrong Time. I wanted to sleep within the folds of memories and the sentimental snapshots of the past. It was Katie's wedding day, an occasion that normally elicits jubilance. Yet, I'd fixated on the need to self-destruct. I recoiled from Oliver's grasp, stuttering an incoherent apology before I'd fully broken away.

"Are you all right, Angie?" Oliver wondered

"I'll be fine. I just got a little-a little lightheaded for a moment. I'm going to get some fresh air," I informed.

"You sure you don't want to me come with you? I can get you some water or something," he persisted.

I shook my head, lips pressed into a watery smile. His compassion was too much, his kindness drilling remorse into my veins like a needle. I'm a horrible person, I know. But I needed to get out and take a breath, without the tortured gaze of Fred or the undeserved concern of Oliver. I began weaving through the couples, head bent low. A waiter passed, holding a teetering tray of champagne flutes. I snatched one and burst out the doors.

I chugged the sweet liquid, shutting my eyes. I ambled down the hallway and randomly selected another door. I found myself in an empty room, a long stack of chairs pushed against the wall. It was probably used for various gatherings, just like the ballroom. A set of French Doors led to a balcony. I turned the handle and went onto the stone balcony.

The scenery resembled a page from a Brontё novel; the countryside stretched for miles and miles, rolling hills colliding into valleys, a twinge of melancholy tainting the otherwise pleasant landscape. I leaned against the railing, the glass on the ground. The position provided a bird's-eye-view of the gardens, various people wandering through the fauna, admiring the antique fountains and the rich floral. The tallest fountain exhibited an angel, balancing on one leg, aiming an arrow.

There was no doubt about it; I had to let Oliver know. Suddenly, the door swung open, a pocket of tepid air licking my back. I didn't bother to turn around, my body stiffing.

"Angelina," he said.

"What are you doing out here?"

"I saw you dancing with Oliver," he commented, with a bit more rancor than I'd expected.

"And I saw you dancing with Lavender."

"She doesn't fit in my arms, you know. Not like you."

"Fred-"

"She's all elbows and knees. When we danced, your head fit right into the crook of my neck. And you had to stand on your tip-toes but not by much. And when we danced you always shut your eyes, like you wanted to imprint the moment in your head."

"She's mad about you," I flatly assured.

"You know, that would be enough for any normal bloke. But no. I shouldn't even be out here! But despite everything, I can only think about how good you look in that dress. And how I should be the one taking you out of it."

Now was good a time as any to get another drink. But I was trapped by my own shame and misery, missing a happiness I'd so foolishly sacrificed. I was an idiot in more ways than one. My stomach lurched. And I wanted to laugh, but it never broke the surface.

"Please, don't make this any harder," I begged.

He took a step forward, voice quavering, determination coating his expression, consuming his eyes. The heartache had turned them a darker blue, a patch of twilight abandoned by constellations, free of stars.

"Do you really love him?" he demanded.

"I…"

"You can't love him. God damn, Angelina, this is the best thing that's ever happened to us and you're just gonna throw it all away?"

"But we're always fighting!"

"I fight with you because I love you! I thought you knew that. I thought it was obvious. I fight with you because I need you, because I worry that one day you'll realize that you want someone else, something more, something that I can't give you. And then, just when I think we're all right again, you tell me that you're in love with Oliver Wood?"

"I was scared! I didn't mean to say it. I said it without thinking and I regret it."

"But do you _love_ him? Do you love him, Angelina? Cause if you do, I'll give up. I'll give up the fight, if there's nothing left to fight for."

Fred grabbed my hand, voice low, eyes locked onto my own.

"I thought I could. But it's hopeless. I know I've made mistakes. But please, please, _please_ don't give up on me yet. You're all I've ever known, Fred. _We're_ all I've ever known. And I used to think that it was a bad thing, that I was missing something."

"And now?"

"And now, I would rather be downright miserable with you, than happy without you."

He pulled me into a fiery kiss. A tear slipped down my face and his lips brushed it away, his eyelashes dusting across my skin. I shuddered, simultaneously frightened and pleased with the power and control he maintained. Images flashed through my mind, all of them concluding with a rumpled bed and my cheek pressed against his bare chest. He held my chin in his hands and he radiated authority, oozing fury.

"I want to hear you say it. Say it, Angel Tell me you love me."

"I love you, Fred Weasley. I love you and I'm sorry and I was stupid and-"

I was silenced with another kiss, one that felt like a baseball bat to my knees, an arrow to my lungs. And he was tugging at my dress and I was clawing at his suit and there was static in my brain, like snow on a broken TV. There was a rushing noise bouncing between my ears, like helicopters landing.

His mouth was like velvet and I kissed his eyelids, sighing as his cool fingers wrapped around the base of my neck. His hands swooped across my shoulders. Suddenly, we were slow dancing, drunkenly swaying to nothing, to the pounding of our heartbeats. I felt unbelievably woozy and I clung to Fred, seasick though ashore.

"I wrote you while I was away. Nearly one letter a day. Never sent them. Kept them all tied up, stuffed under my bunk. And when I went out on the battlefield, I kept a few underneath my shirt. I thought if I died, then someone would find me and send you the letters."

"Please, don't say anymore."

"Oi Lina, if you only knew the half of it."

I was alive and buzzing, positively silly and in a daze, an infatuation that mimicked the haze of long, hot, summer nights, when slumber refused to stick to my limbs, when I'd send Fred a midnight OWL and I thought love would last forever.

"Do you want to get out of here?"

"But what about Katie and Lee?"

"They won't mind. No one will even notice."

"But Fred-"

He kissed me and I was a goner.

I went back into the ballroom, hoping to grab my purse and make a dash for the exit. Unfortunately, my plans were foiled. As soon as I'd snatched my belongings, I felt a tenacious grip squeeze my forearm. I looked up and was greeted with Alicia's apprehensive face.

"Shit, I'm so glad I found you," she wearily confessed.

"What's wrong?"

"It's Lavender. She's pregnant."

Studying her disturbed expression, nothing else needed to be said.


	12. Paint It Black

A/N: Hullo everyone! I hope your summer is going well so far! I see some of you found me on facebook...haha. Anyway, I hope you like the chapter and thanks for reviewing!

* * *

**June 20**

* * *

**Continued**

* * *

She had to be kidding. I mean, really. It was probably some twisted joke. A dream. How could things start off so lovely and suddenly end in such pandemonium? Fred and I had finally gotten it together, had realized how silly we were being and now, it was crumbling to dust. I could only stare at Alicia, my mouth flopping open and closed, like one of those goldfish with the bulging eyes.

The band was playing some jaunty melody. Everyone was on the dance floor, clapping and squealing, oblivious to the tragedy at hand. The cake had been cut, a towering monster of vanilla batter with mounds of chocolate frosting. George and Lee were standing by the culinary masterpiece, shoveling food into their mouths and rehashing old memories.

"Angelina?"

I lazily met Alicia's gaze, feeling like the wind had been knocked out of my lungs. This was just a silly dream, that's all it was. A terrible nightmare and when I woke up, I'd be safe and sound in my bed, curled up in Fred's arms. I pinched the skin on my forearm. I pinched harder, the dull pain delayed. I looked down. An angry welt was beginning to form, a sliver of white against my dark skin.

"Alicia, if you're joking, I swear I'm going to hex you," I hissed.

Alicia shook her head, snatching my wrist.

"Why would I joke about this? I'm serious. I was talking with Ginny and Lavender scampered over. Ginny mentioned that Luna Lovegood was expecting. Lavender took it as her cue to butt in and said, Can you keep a secret? So, naturally, I lied and said yes. And that's when she announced she was preggers."

Something was stuck in my throat, a bitter, vile substance that made me want to gag. I attempted to push it down, but the revolting abomination remained in tact, clogging my esophagus. I put a hand to my stomach. Alicia released her fingers from my wrist and grabbed my shoulder. The room was starting to spin. The surrounding scenery resembled an abstract painting, the aftermath of a crazed artist. Bodies were blending together, various colors melting and dripping. There was a roar in my ear, like the rushing of wind, like the screech of a breeze through a tunnel.

"Are you all right?"

"Do I bloody _look_ like I'm all right?!"

Alicia sighed.

"Well, I just thought I'd ask. You look like you're going to be sick."

"She has to be lying. She has to be!" I declared.

"That's what Ginny said. I don't know. Why would she lie about that? She doesn't know that you've gotten back together with Fred. No one knows. With the exception of myself."

"This is just awful. Downright awful. Leesh, everything was perfect. Fred kissed me and I just _knew_ that nothing could keep us apart. That we're meant to be together. I finally realized that I didn't have to doubt myself anymore, that I don't have to question things. And now, now-I'm back to where I bloody started! It was all so perfect, so _perfect_ in our own way, and now it's all just gone and fallen to pieces!"

More than anything, I wanted to cry. But I felt too drained and the words came out hollow and dead, rather than morose.

"But he doesn't love her," Alicia reminded.

"That doesn't matter, now does it? Love doesn't matter anymore. If she's pregnant, he can't abandon her, can he? Fred may not be the most moral person, but he upholds the importance of family. And if Lavender's carrying his son or daughter, he'd feel obligated to her."

"He'd be miserable with her. You know it and I know it! And Christ, _Lavender Brown_ as a mother? You might as well hand that kid over to a pack of wolves. They'd do a better job than that ditz," Alicia passionately argued.

"It's hopeless."

"No! Don't you dare talk like that. You've come too far and put up with too much to give up."

"She's got his kid, Alicia. The fact that he slept with her doesn't bother me too much. What bothers me the most is that she's forever snatched a piece of him. Whether he likes it or not, they've got a connection. A connection that right now, is far more superior to the one I've got with him. Fred's supposed to be _mine_, as I'm his. And now, Lavender's taken it away and nothing will be the same. Nothing."

I thought of Hogwarts and sleeping in the common room, watching the fire sputter and die. I thought of walks in the rain, tossing dirt and falling into the mud, laughing with bits of grass tangled in my hair. I thought of forever and how it didn't seem long enough. I thought of forever and wondered what would happen when that forever ran out.

It'd taken nearly three years for Fred to really notice me. It'd taken one look to fall in love with him. It'd taken just one minute to demolish whatever hope I still retained. I was a sinking ship, sending out an SOS that no one would hear.

"You've got to talk to him. He wouldn't keep something this big from you. Did he say anything when you were outside?" Alicia questioned.

"No."

"No, you're not going to talk to him or no, he didn't say anything?"

"That's a no for both," I informed.

"Angelina!"

"What?" I wondered, with a tad of bewilderment.

"Seriously, you need to go find him and get to the bottom of this," she protested.

Her cheeks were flushed, her body rigid.

"Fine. I'll go tell him that I changed my mind. That I was in a state of temporary insanity and that I didn't know what I was saying. That I didn't mean any of it," I stubbornly outlined.

"WHAT?"

"Yes, I'll tell him that it was a big mistake. In the heat of the moment type of thing. That way, it'll be easier. And then he can just go back to hating me again and have a nice little family with Lavender. Then we won't have to go through this Romeo and Juliet melodramatic bollocks. No more secret looks across the hall, no more temptation to kiss him when no one is looking. We can just get on with our lives," I gloomily predicted.

"Don't be stupid. That'd be even worse. I'm telling you, no, I'm _begging_ you, go find Fred. Talk to him. You're on the brink of victory. Don't wave a white flag because you don't want to get your hands dirty."

"You're saying I have to get my hands dirty? Go and steal the father of some poor girl's baby?"

"Ok, you're taking that the wrong way."

"No, I don't."

"ANGELINA! I'm not going to stand here and argue. We're just going to repeat ourselves. You need to find Fred and talk to him. End of discussion. If you don't do it yourself, _I'll_ do it," Alicia threatened.

Her latent fury had broken the surface, her eyes sparkling with emotion. I felt like a little kid, getting scolded by her mother.

"Fine," I snapped.

I whirled on my heel and started for the door. It felt satisfying to escape the overwhelming euphoria of the wedding reception. The excess happiness was a reminder of my predicament. I didn't need reinforcement; although I was happy for Katie, it added to my distress. I needed a drink and foolishly, I'd rushed out of the ballroom before grabbing a glass. I returned to the balcony, electrified. Fred had his back to me, casually leaning over the railing.

Once he heard the harsh click of my heels, he turned around. He brushed the hair out of his eyes and smiled. It seemed cruel to ruin the moment. I started to think that I shouldn't have come out there in the first place. Why had I gotten the stupid urge to rush out here? I should have danced with Oliver, ignored Fred. End of story. But watching him, gaze locked on his playful smirk, my anger turned inward. The harmless arrogance reattached to his swagger. He looked like a man who thought he had nothing to lose.

Would this be the extent of our relationship? Would we always just miss each other? Just miss our chances? It's like the cinema duo that's jumping a train. The first person successfully hops onboard and offers his hand. The second person can only grab their partner's fingers and soon, the train whizzes by, the latter passenger stranded as the whistle shrieks.

Fred wrapped me in his arms and my body sagged. He kissed my forehead and I didn't protest. He merrily bequeathed a peck to my lips. He grinned and I thought he was showing too many teeth. The romantic splendor of the countryside had vanished. In addition to my optimism, joy shriveled and dried up like a raisin. I thought about the people down the hall, frolicking about, not a care in the world. And I wished I could have been as blithe, my movement as lithe. I wondered if any of them were actually happy, if any of them wore their radiance like a mask, only to disguise the ugly falsehoods underneath.

"Are you ready to leave?" he asked.

I pulled back, my embrace lax. I was a prized boxer, pinned up against the ropes, unable to retaliate, enduring blow after blow.

"What's wrong, love?" Fred whispered.

"Congratulations," I murmured, my voice gravelly.

"For what?"

"You're going to be a father, aren't you?"

Fred's eyes widened, frantically looking at my flat stomach. His eyes darted from my face and then to my abdomen. His hand tenderly reached out, falling onto its center. Despite the fabric of my dress, I could feel the heat of his skin. I inhaled, nearly asphyxiating on my own breathe.

"You're not-"

He faltered, the rest of his question fading away. So he really didn't have a clue. Either that or he was the world's greatest actor. I hoarsely laughed and seized his lips, wishing that a kiss would erase the pain. In my head, I was screaming, thrashing about and throwing things against the wall. In my head, I was burning the mementos of our relationship, watching the scraps catch the flames, bursting into orange and finally into black ash. Here lies Angelina Johnson and Frederick Weasley. May they rest in peace.

"Angel, does this mean…?"

"Not what you think it means. I haven't spoken to her yet, but I can imagine that Lavender's excited. Probably picked out the names, a few girl names, her favorite boy names. He or she…whichever it is…will probably have your eyes and her hair. Maybe a few freckles. Not like our kids, you know? Your eyes…my hair…a head full of lovely curls and skin like weak coffee with loads and loads of cream."

My shoulders were trembling, my voice surprisingly even. I got distracted by something in the distance, nothing in particular. I squinted, gazing at the space behind his shoulder. The grip around my waist loosened, his hand removed from my stomach. It was like Fred didn't know what expression deemed fit. His face contorted into a spasm of emotions, utter disbelief melting into fury, morphing into bleak hopelessness. It was a hideous medley of sentiments, the shocked look of a victim as they're shot in the back. Right between the shoulder blades, when you can feel the bullet tearing into their muscles. It's the recognition of total betrayal, the sort of betrayal that's self-inflicted.

"No…she…no, that can't be!"

"You _did_ shag her, didn't you?"

"Once! But that couldn't have been…No, I swear, we were careful, _I_ was careful. And it was awhile ago. Before we got together, before the wedding. I can't be the father, I just…I can't," Fred objected.

But I witnessed the flicker of doubt in his eyes, slipping behind his conviction, tweaking the strength of his voice.

"But who else could it be?"

"How should I bloody know?" he disputed.

"There's no way out of this one. There's no loop hole. We can't write this off and discard all the facts," I reasoned.

He stepped back, cutting off our physical contact. _Come back,_ I wanted to say. _Come back, because you don't know how much I need you. How much I need to just feel your hand on the small of my back, feel your cheek pressed against mine._

"Facts? What facts? All we've got is some accusation from a dizzy girl and now you're ready to call this off. She has no proof! A girl like that, Merlin! I'm not the only bloke she's had a tumble with!" Fred zealously opposed.

"Why would she make this up? And how do _you_ know that you were careful?"

"I don't know!"

"Fred, I can't…I-"

"No, this is not happening. I won't let it," he stubbornly interjected.

I snorted.

"Well, it is and you can't stop it. What are you going to do? Tell the baby to disappear? Tell Lavender to-to…get _rid_ of it? You and I both know that you could never go through with it. And I'm sure Lavender wouldn't either. And your Mum, she'd want you to do the right thing. Take some responsibility."

His ears were infected with a unique shade of scarlet, spreading like spilled paint.

"Take some responsibility? What? We don't even know if she's actually pregnant, and you're talking like the baby's going to pop out in the next five minutes!" he bellowed.

"Because I know the man I fell in love with. The man I fell in love with wouldn't turn his back on the people that need him. His family. The man I love has a good heart and doesn't run from his obligations," I raggedly defended.

His face paled and his shoulders drooped. He appeared as though he'd aged five years in a span of five seconds. He rubbed his temples, battling a wave of queasy misery. Everything was disintegrating, combusting and exploding. The only thing we could do was watch the fireworks.

"I don't love her."

I nodded, suddenly parched.

"I know," I said.

"I could never love her," Fred plainly admitted.

"I wouldn't want you to," I assured.

"This isn't the end."

"For us, it has to be."

He kissed me, slow and deliberate, his fingers flittering across my collarbone. I could sense his frustration and his anguish. There was nothing sweet about this kiss. It was a lethal combination of our sorrow, an affirmation of our hurt. I held him tighter, held him closer, squeezing out any space, like I was draining the air out of a plastic bag.

"Let's get out of here. Please," Fred begged.

"We can't. You've got to find Lavender," I advised.

"Only for tonight. I need to be with you. If this is it, if you want to throw in the towel, I can't end it like this. So cold, so abrupt. I would rather wake up to an empty bed, than watch you walk away."

I rested my hands on either side of his face and kissed him again, blocking out my destitution, focusing on the softness of those lips and the rustle of his tux. I briefly kissed his neck, feeling like I had a plethora of things to say, yet lacking the vocabulary to form the sentences. I needed to leave before the tears commenced. I didn't want him to see me cry.

"I won't be the one to hold you back. You're going to make a great father, you know that? I mean it. I really do. Who knows? Maybe this experience will bring you and Lavender together. Maybe you'll be happy together," I predicted.

The presumption didn't suit my mouth, as though I was gargling on a handful of rocks. Lavender Brown Weasley. The name didn't even sound pleasant, the consonance bumping into the assonance, colliding and detonating behind the tongue.

"Don't say that, all right? It's gonna be you and me. Like we've always said. Like it should be," Fred fiercely corrected.

"Go," I ordered.

His lips grazed my forehead. I didn't watch him leave. I kept my head low. I felt like an old toy, tossed aside, having lost the favor of its owner. The air seemed cool and my dress itched. Before the realization hit, I was crying. It wasn't the elegant sort of weeping, the delicate, airy breaths meant for paper shoulders and bird-like hands. I was sobbing, my eyes flooded with mascara-infested puddles. It felt wrong, to stand in that beautiful dress, admiring that beautiful panorama. I wanted my outside to match the inside. The ground was moving underneath my feet, grumbling like an earthquake.

Everything was blurry, black-tears clouding my vision. The champagne flute remained on the ground. I picked it up, studied the shiny surface. With a strangled moan, I smashed it, stepping back to avoid wayward glass. After a moment, I found the nearest bathroom. I turned on the water, watching the faucet roar. I pulled out a bunch of paper towels and vigorously scrubbed at my face. The lights were harsh, the soap scented. The mirrors were impeccable. I felt out of place. I scrubbed until the makeup was gone, my face a raw canvas.

My eyes were puffy, smears of eyeliner dragged beneath my bottom lashes. I wanted nothing more than to sleep, sleep for years and years. I wanted to collapse into my mattress with the shades down. I knew I looked horrible. That was the only comforting thought, the knowledge that I carried physical evidence of my dejection.

When I returned to the ballroom, Fred and Lavender were absent. George and Alicia were huddled in the far corner, fervently talking. Lee and Katie were chatting with Mr. and Mrs. Jordan. Lee's arm was snaked around his bride's waist. I spotted a waiter and snatched two champagnes flutes. It wasn't nearly enough, not enough to do anything. But it'd do for now.

I saw Oliver, sitting at my table. He wasn't looking at something in particular, just staring off into space. He drummed his fingers on the cloth. I swiftly walked over to him, and pulled up an adjacent chair. I gently put my hand over his, feeling the jut of his knuckles hiding below my palm. And I knew that although I felt alone, that night, I wouldn't be going home alone.


	13. Exit Music For A Film

13. Exit Music For A Film

A/N: Hey everyone! I hope you're all doing well. I'm so excited for DH to come out! I hope you like this chapter. I tried to make it not as er...depressing as the last one. Haha.

* * *

**June 21**

* * *

When I awoke, I felt like a sledgehammer had slammed into my temples. I was in my own bed, in my own flat all right, but I'd acquired a house guest. A bit flustered, I gazed down at my attire. Surprisingly, I was clothed. However, my pajamas were quite unconventional, as they consisted of Oliver's white dress shirt, halfway-buttoned, and nothing else. My hair drooped, matted by the hairspray. The shades had been shut, but light leaked through the slits. It added to my headache, a sharp sensation pulsating like a lighthouse. With a groan, I realized that tomorrow was my audition for Arsenal.

Great, just great. As if my life couldn't get anymore complicated. I've finally managed to reconcile with the love of my life, only to find out that he may or may not be the father of another woman's baby. On top of that, I may or may not have slept with my ex-Qudditich Captain and friend.

Would it be terribly uncouth to admit that at the moment, the only solution I perceived fit was another round of alcohol, perhaps Fire Whiskey? I shifted around, accidentally whacking Oliver across the face. Clad only in his boxers, he grunted. His hair was like a wet bear, clumped and bunched. It was such a weird feeling, waking up with Oliver in my bed. To tell you the truth, it was rather unsettling, as though I'd just walked in on my brother stark naked. Mostly harmless, but entirely embarrassing.

Oh Merlin, how the bloody hell am I supposed to get through tomorrow's try-out, when I seem to have dived off the deep end? I can't very well write them a letter, could I? They'd laugh in my face.

* * *

_To Whom It May Concern:_

_My name is Angelina Johnson and due to personal reasons, I am not in suitable conditions for my audition. I understand that there isn't an excuse for such carelessness, but you see, my on-again, off-again boyfriend has just confessed he's very much in love with me, but he could possibly be the father of someone else's baby. On top of that, I just slept with this gorgeous bloke, who, so it happens, used to my House captain and is one of my close friends. But unfortunately, I don't hold any romantic feelings for him, whatsoever. _

_Thank You,_

_Angelina Johnson_

* * *

Hmmm. It just might-AH. Who am I kidding? Myself, apparently. Oh, Frederick Weasley, I could kill you right now. But I'd much rather kiss you. Yes, I am definitely, one hundred percent, head over heels in love with the bloke. Damn.

I leaned against the headboard, fastening some of the buttons. Good thing I didn't have to work today. I studied Oliver, his body compacted, hesitant to covet additional space. It was so unlike Fred, who liked to pull me so close, as though he were trying to swallow me. So close that I was nearly on top of him, his face buried against my neck.

I bit my lip, feeling like a flaming poker had been thrust into a gash. I wondered if Fred had talked to Lavender. She'd probably thrown a controlled tantrum, one that drew attention without the volume of her voice, but the violence of her expressions. However, I could only speculate. I hadn't waited for Fred to return from the balcony. While downing another glass of champagne, I told Oliver I wasn't feeling well. We'd left shortly after.

Fred had always harbored a temper. He'd begun to tame it over the years. But this unfortunate situation would be immune to his tactics. I could just envision him storming off, a handful of prying eyes watching his retreat. Awhile ago, he'd explained how he'd conquered his anger. This was after graduation, but before the War. He'd confessed that he'd picked up boxing. Shadowboxing, really. The expensive part of London, the posh side, attracted a lot of celebrities, Quidditch players included. There were a few gyms and training places. Fred recalled that one day, he'd simply wandered into one and that was that.

It was hard to imagine Fred, pounding away at the bag. Though he's athletic, he doesn't have the typical build of a boxer. He's always been lean, though toned, and agile, like a sprinter. Now that I think about it, Oliver more so fits the prerequisites. They're both around the same monstrous height. But Oliver seems a bit heavier, in terms of muscular definition.

Ok, why does it appear that whenever I talk about Oliver, I end up commenting about his muscles?!

_You have bloody lost it. Dear God woman, you're hopeless!_

At least that's what I said to myself and simultaneously employed to justify my need for a spiked cup of Earl Grey. Oliver mumbled something, flopping his forearm over his eyes. He hadn't even stirred when I'd thwacked him. I crept out of bed, one foot hitting the wood and then the other. The floor was a mess, strewn with Oliver's tuxedo and my dress. One of my heels had been carelessly tossed off, only to land in the trash. The other rested on top of my bureau. I shuffled into the kitchen. I rummaged through the cabinets, snatching a cup and saucer. I picked up my wand, abandoned on the table. After conjuring the tea, I mixed in a dash of Fire Whiskey.

I pondered over the correct thing to say, when Oliver awoke. It felt like writing a 100 page play that needed to be finished in five minutes. Of course, I could smile and say, _Why hullo Oliver, Good Morning!_ But what was I supposed to say after that? I wondered how many women, Muggle and Witch alike, sat in their kitchens, drowning in Last Night's shirt. I pictured a faceless representative, slumped in her stool, suddenly realizing that she didn't know how to act normal.

There was a loud CRACK and I nearly dropped my cup. Holden materialized, eager like a bloodhound on the trail of game. I yelped, the saucer rattling in my hands. Holden chuckled, glancing around his surroundings.

"Late night, little sister?"

I scowled, shoving the tea on the counter. I hoped Oliver hadn't heard the commotion.

"Oh sod off. What are you doing here?" I snapped.

Holden grinned and shuffled to the cupboards. He pulled out a chipped mug, extracted his wand that appeared out of nowhere, and conjured a serving of strong coffee. He sat down, twisting his body to face me. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, lips turned into a sour grimace.

"I figured you'd land yourself into a spot of trouble. Considering our last chat, you were about to combust."

I cocked an eyebrow.

"Oh and that explains why you coincidentally decided to stop by today, on this morning, out of all mornings?" I demanded.

Holden laughed, fishing around in his pockets. Radiating satisfaction, he retrieved a piece of parchment, the seal broken.

"Well, yes. And because your mate Katie requested my services."

I narrowed my eyes and read the familiar scrawl.

* * *

_Holden,_

_Sorry this is of out of the blue, but I figured it was worth a shot. As you probably know, Angelina and Fred are driving each other bonkers again. She left in a bit of a hurry last night and Alicia speculates that she may have run off into the sunset with Oliver Wood. Now, as it's my honeymoon, I'm not able to pay a visit and knock the sense into her. Since Alicia is busy as well, we thought you'd make the perfect substitute. _

_Sincerely,_

_Katie Bell_

* * *

I heaved the note aside, practically snarling.

"What is this! What, am I twelve years old now? Do I need some sort of caretaker?"

Holden snatched the note and carefully refolded it. He tucked it back into his pocket, lethargically sipping his coffee.

"Look, I don't know the entire story here, but obviously, you're in way over your head. Why else would your friends send me an OWL?" he reasoned.

"Um…because they're psycho?" I argued.

"Angie, really. What have you done this time?"

Holden paused, warily eyeing my attire. He coughed, filling in the fragments with his own imagination and logic.

"Or, perhaps, I don't really need to ask."

"Holden, I can take care of myself. Just leave me alone. I'm not in the mood right now," I sternly ordered.

Holden sighed, knowing that he couldn't wear down my stubborn resolve. He rose, draining the last of his drink. The jovial, taunting tone of his voice vanished. I refused to meet his gaze, stonily peering into my half-empty cup. If this had been someone else's life, I might have laughed. The scene could have been ripped right out of a maudlin soap opera. Yet, here I was, enduring my brother's scolding while last night's fling was passed out in the next room.

"Fine. But don't think I won't be back!"

With that, Holden disappeared. With a tempestuous stomach, I ventured back into the bedroom. I plopped onto the bed, gently shaking Oliver's shoulder. No response. I shook him again, adding extra force. Oliver groaned, tossing and turning.

"Oliver. Oliver. Get up," I whispered.

Oliver mumbled and with a great yawn, he tore open his eyes. When his vision had come into focus, he smiled. He slid up the headboard, reaching for my hand. Though I hadn't gathered all the right words, I knew what had to be done.

"Morning."

"Um. Good morning. Did you sleep all right?" I politely questioned.

"Yes, thanks for asking. Did you?"

"All right," I informed.

A mischievous glint entered his gaze. I nervously laughed, untwining my fingers from his grasp. I shoved my hands underneath my thighs, pressing my weight onto my knuckles. Oliver's smiled waned, though it didn't disintegrate. I toyed with the buttons on my oxford, tugging at the hemline, at the sleeves.

"Did we…ah…we didn't…sleep together, did we?" I wondered, praying it wasn't true.

He sighed, comprehending my apprehension.

"No. We got pretty close to it. We probably would have, if you hadn't called me Fred," he informed.

My cheeks flushed with heat. I suppressed my relief, realizing it might hurt and offend Oliver. I couldn't recall too much from the previous night. My memory was like an old train that kept starting, only to stall again.

"Er…terribly sorry about that. So…if we didn't sleep together, why am I wearing your shirt?"

"I didn't know where you kept your pajamas. You called me Fred and it felt like someone had dumped a bucket of cold water on my head. So I got up and started looking for my clothes. I was going to leave, but you started to cry. I don't know how much champagne you drank, but it must have been a lot. You were pretty smashed. So, I tossed you my shirt, put you to bed and ended up falling asleep."

"I was _crying_?" I repeated.

Oliver nodded.

"Yeah. I mean, you weren't weeping or anything. It was quiet, like a dog that's got it leg snared in a trap. I didn't want to leave you. I wanted to make sure you'd be all right."

My headache had subsided, though the crushing sensation of guilt and self-loathing increased. I wondered if Oliver knew about Lavender's accusations. I wondered if everyone knew and I had just been going about, oblivious as a fool, blind, deaf, and dumb. Surely, if Oliver had known, he would have told me?

"You're too good to me."

It a statement and not a hypothesis. I said this out of reflection and instant enlightenment. However, Oliver read this as a form of flattery or a flag of surrender. He glared. And I thought of his third year, when Marcus Flint had knocked me off my broom and I ended up in the hospital wing. When Oliver told me about my accident, his face had darkened each time he spoke Flint's name. It was the same breed of disgust, the same that was now directed at me.

"You're right. I am," he hoarsely confirmed.

He got up, gravitating towards his belongings. He located his trousers and stumbled into them, manically tugging on the zipper. He looked at me, expression apathetic and icy, as though I were a bug he was about to stomp.

"Oliver, please don't be mad," I brokenly pleaded.

It was the wrong thing to say, but it flew out of my mouth without hesitation. Oliver lingered, bathed in the sun's rays, towering at his full height. I'd lost Fred and now I was going to lose a friend. When and how did everything turn from worse to tragic? Everything I touched turned to ash; I alienated everyone I loved.

"Mad? Do you expect me to be overjoyed?" Oliver hissed.

"I didn't mean to hurt you! I'm sorry, please, you've got to forgive me."

Oliver rolled his eyes, already bored with my bargaining.

"I'd like my shirt back, please."

He took a few steps closer. I perched on my knees, the sheets crackling. Lately, it felt like I could only utter apologies or excuses. I was tired of configuring alibis.

"Don't think that I don't care about you. Because I do! I-"

"But you don't care about me, the way you care about Fred." There was no use in denying the facts.

"You must have known. All along…"

Oliver sighed, momentarily shedding his pitiless fury.

"I think I did know. But I didn't want to admit it. I thought we had something, you know? You never looked at me the way you looked at him. But I thought it didn't matter. Silly, isn't it? I suppose it's mostly my fault. Thinking that I had a chance."

I glided off the mattress. Oliver remained frozen, suspiciously studying my advancement. His entire body hummed with tension, his hands clenched into fists. It seemed inappropriately intimate to be wearing his shirt. I scoured the floor for my bathrobe, but failed to notice it. Was I making a huge mistake? Was Oliver my Mr. Darcy all along? Had I been stunned by my passion, too entangled by impulse to maintain a clear head and adequate judgment?

"It's not your fault. If anything, I've been a horrible friend. I wouldn't blame you if you decided to never speak to me again. But, if that should happen, I'd like you to know that I'd feel even worse than I feel right now," I confessed.

Oliver was like a robot, his emotions veiled.

"So you think an apology is going to make it all right?" he bitterly demanded.

"Not at all. My point is, that I'd rather have you mad at me. It's better than having you hate me."

At this, Oliver softened, fists unfurling.

"I don't hate you."

I attempted to smile. The sympathy evaporated. He shook his head.

"I-"

"But that doesn't mean everything's right between us. Look, I need to go. I need to clear my head. You can keep the shirt if you want. I don't care," Oliver heavily offered.

"No, let me change. It'll only take a minute or so."

Oliver ignored me, swiping his jacket. He shimmed one arm through the hole and then the other. He didn't bother to fasten the button. He haphazardly ran his fingers through his hair, recoiling a few steps.

"Goodbye, Angelina."

I felt my lip quiver.

"That's not forever, right?"

He cracked the glimmer of a smile.

"Course not."

I swallowed and nodded.

"G'bye, then," I said.

Oliver looked me dead in the eye, hands burrowed in his pockets.

"And don't worry. No matter what, he still loves you."

With that, he was gone and I was alone once more.


	14. Every Me, Every You

A/N: Hello everyone! Sorry this is a shorter chapter than usual. However, I think this story is soon coming to an end! I promise the next chapter will be longer, to make up for this one. Thank you for all of your reviews! I appreciate it immensely.

* * *

**June 22****

* * *

**

When Alicia showed up, I was in my bedroom. The meteorologists didn't have the foresight to accurately predict the day's weather. It was a humid day, so stuffy and overwhelming that all my energy had been drained. To simply lie on the bed and do absolutely nothing seemed most appealing.

My Arsenal audition had gone awful. I'd tried to get to bed early. However, I spent half the night staring at the ceiling, replaying that week's events. The moment I drifted into something that remotely resembled sleep, I'd jerk forward, head infested with fresh fears. I woke up an hour earlier than necessary, my stomach jumbled and bound in knots.

When I got to the pitch, I was half-conscious and grumpy. About five other candidates showed. One was vying for the vacant Beater position; the other four were competing for the Chaser spot.

We did some passing drills- easy enough. That didn't require too much effort. However, then the Captain had me do a trial run-through with the team. Then I remembered where I was and what I was doing and I panicked. Which was quite odd, since when it comes to Quidditch, I'm Grace Under Fire. Ok, well, not exactly, but I'm pretty darn convincing. Nothing outrageous happened. My performance was average, which is exactly the reason why it was terrible.

To top it off, the Captain was a peroxide-blonde. I'm sure she's quite the lovely darling in real life, but the second I spotted her, I kept confusing her with Lavender. They actually look nothing alike, but whenever she spoke, she'd tilt her head to the side like a confused puppy. And this seemed like a Lavender thing to do, so I'd envision wrapping my hands around her neck and just strangling her…..

Yes children, sleep deprivation and adrenaline don't mix.

To make a long story short, I sucked. I would have been the worst player there, but this bloke named Jefferies accidentally hit the Captain in the face with his Beater Bat. She's all right, I think. It took her awhile to remember her name, but she's a tough cookie. She'll shake it off.

"Oy, Angelina, what are you doing?" Alicia demanded.

"Wallowing in my misery," I curtly informed.

"Well, get up."

"Why?" I groaned.

"It involves Lavender. Now, there's no time for questions right now. Just get up, make yourself decent, and let's go."

Disheartened by my awful audition, I'd changed into a pair of pajama boxers and a tank top. I'd piled my hair into a messy ponytail and was slowly starting to enjoy my lethargic state. Despite Alicia's reputation for persuasion, or rather brute force, I was feeling too low to fake interest.

"If it involves Lavender, that gives me even more reason to stay here."

She tugged on my arm, highly disgusted. The humidity was adding to my apathy, making me sleepy. I burrowed into the pillows. Maybe it would be best if I just stayed there for the rest of my life. All I managed to do was mess up everything. I tainted everything I touched.

"Trust me Lina, you need to see this."

With strength that betrayed her lithe frame, she dragged me from bed. I sighed and slipped on sneakers. She turned, impatience marring her usual amiable features.

"Ready?"

"Well, I-"

"Good."

Alicia dug her fingers into my hand and with a roar, we were whizzing through space, the gravitational force sucking at our bodies, battling the slight, subdued nausea of Apparating. With a POP, we'd landed in front of a high-priced boutique. Across the street stood a health clinic. Pedestrian traffic was light; the crowds shuffled along, absorbed in their companions or their own thoughts. Alicia yanked at my arm again; we hovered off to the side of the building. We were still in London, though far from the glamour and splendor of the shopping havens and consumerist gold of the Central area.

"Look, there'd better be a bloody good reason why you've dragged me here, half-clothed and in the heat," I warned.

"Oh, there is," Alicia knowingly answered.

"Oh yeah? It might help if you told me," I crossly fumed.

I had just remembered that these were the boxers that had a small hole on the bum. She glanced down at her wristwatch and then conspiratorially smiled. It kind of frightened me. You see, I'd known from the moment we'd met that Alicia was slightly mad. Which is perfectly all right, seeing as how I'm a little mad too. However, whenever I see the flash of that conniving grin, I'm still terrified. Who knows what that girl is capable of. I tell you, my life is begging to be transcribed into some Muggle soap opera or mad for TV drama. My friends are loony, _I'm_ loony, and my love life is more of a battlefield than a field of fresh daises.

"Hold on…in three…two…one…bingo."

Out of thin air, Fred and Lavender appeared. I gnawed on the inside of my cheek. They loitered in front of the health clinic. They briefly discussed something. Fred kept nodding and Lavender looked somber, eyebrows knitted into grave reluctance. Fred said something and Lavender issued a warm smile. He leaned down and kissed her cheek, one with more of concern than unbridled passion.

Then, he disappeared. Lavender stared at the spot he'd once occupied, expression utterly hollow. She glanced over her shoulder and then with a satisfied smile, bypassed the clinic and walked in the opposite direction. She swerved down a corner and was gone.

"What…what's going on?"

"Lina, she's not pregnant! It's all a hoax! Fred drops her off at the clinic, thinking she's going to her appointments. But really, it's all a diversion," she confided.

"How do you know?" I demanded, totally forgetting about my ridiculous attire.

"I followed her. Right around the corner is Seamus Finnegan's house. That's where she's been going."

"Then why is she lying to Fred?"

"Think about it. Fred is loaded. And to some women, that's all that matters," Alicia analyzed.

"No! You don't think-"

"Hey, I just call it like I see it. George told me that Lavender's been all over Fred from day one. I guess she thought you were out of the picture. Apparently, Seamus and Lavender used to date. When she got hired at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, they'd just split up and she latched onto Fred."

I controlled the urge to dance through the streets, bliss electrifying my body. Alicia had given me a loop hole, a way out of the catastrophe I'd created. I wanted to dance, I wanted to sing, I wanted to collapse to my knees and cry.

Instead, I smiled, squeezed her hand, and said, "Thank you."


	15. The Pros And Cons Of Breathing

**June 23**

* * *

**MOM (Ministry of Magic)**

* * *

What if Alicia was wrong? What if Lavender really _is_ pregnant and the Seamus thing isn't what we think it is? What if, right this minute, Fred and Lavender are tying the knot and then running off to France for their honeymoon? What if Fred has fallen madly in love with Lavender and-

I need to calm down. Maybe drinking those five Red Bulls wasn't such a good idea.

* * *

**June 24**

* * *

**My Flat (Like I really go anywhere else these days)**

* * *

I think today was a signal that my luck is finally changing. Or at least, I really hope that it was a sure sign and I wasn't harboring my usual delusions. Anyway, it was around six. I'd just gotten home from the Ministry, unable to shake my bad temperament. I'd packed a dynamite lunch and some slag had the nerve to eat it! Seriously, who in Merlin's beard goes around eating other people's food, like some sort of- some sort of homeless person! Honestly, if I were that desperate, I'd eat my own hand than **steal** someone's lunch. Ok, maybe I wouldn't eat my own hand, but I wouldn't go rummaging about in the fridge like a dirty raccoon and-

I'll stop ranting. But just let me tell you what was packed in that lunch, so you can appreciate the magnitude of the crime.

Exhibit A: Smoked turkey, thinly-sliced pickles, fresh lettuce, tomato, low-fat mayonnaise and mozzarella cheese on whole-wheat bread. With the crusts cut off.

Exhibit B: One shiny apple

Exhibit C: One generous slice of Devil's Food Cake with homemade chocolate icing

The cake was courtesy of my Mum. With all of the components laid out on the table, you must understand the rationale behind my rage.

Moving on…I arrived home ready to snap. I went into the kitchen, got a mug for tea, and then ventured into the bedroom. I quickly changed out of my office attire and into my favorite pair of sweatpants and an Arsenal jersey. I returned to the kitchen, still fuming about my coveted goods, searching for a replacement meal. All of a sudden, a large owl swooped through the window. With a sharp hoot, it dropped a large envelope on the table. The owl left and I slowly retrieved the letter. Always jumping to the worst, I imagined that it was a letter from Fred, telling me that Lavender had gone into labor or something. However, when I opened the parchment, I was overjoyed.

It said:

* * *

_Dear Miss Johnson,_

_After reviewing all of the candidates, I'd like to welcome you to Arsenal Quidditch Team! You demonstrated exceptional skill and admirable integrity at your audition. I'd like to offer you the position as Chaser for this upcoming season. I think you'd make a great addition to the team. Therefore, please respond within the next few days as to confirm or decline this invitation._

_I look forward to your reply._

_Sincerely,_

_Bianca Regan_

_Arsenal Quidditch Captain_

* * *

You can imagine my total surprise. I had to read the letter twice, just to affirm that I wasn't hallucinating. When I saw that it was indeed real, I started screaming. I hopped up and down, clutching the letter, probably frightening the neighbors and the rest of London. After the shock passed, I got out some paper and a quill. I scribbled a letter to my parents and to Holden, informing them of the good news. I wrote another letter to Alicia and Katie. Then, ignoring the voice of protest in my head, I apparated to Oliver's.

Bliss had conquered my senses and I yielded to its passionate power. I wanted to skip through the streets and hug random people, spreading my joy like a passing snow cloud. Oliver had helped me train and over the years, had given as much support as Fred. No matter the horrid state of our relationship, I couldn't forget his generosity.

Seconds later, I appeared in his vacant living room. I looked around, fully realizing the consequences of my actions. I thought about retreating home, but it seemed cowardly. I would have to eventually face Oliver. He was and (hopefully) still is one of my best mates. I didn't want to lose his friendship, even though the blame solely rests on my shoulders. I swallowed my pride and tentatively peered down the hallway.

"Oliver?"

A door creaked open and a voice boomed, "Who's there?"

"It's me, Angelina."

I remained in place, determined to stay and too nervous to further advance.

"Hold on a moment," he neutrally replied.

A moment later, Oliver languidly strolled down the hallway. He must have gotten out of the shower. His hair was sopping wet, nearly plastered to his head. He wore a pair of khakis and a maroon T-shirt. His feet were bare, his expression void of any prominent emotion. Guilt plagued my mind like an avalanche of rocks.

On a totally physical level, he looked the same. Same muddy-brown locks, same inviting eyes, the burly build. He was a man without dubious intentions, a Knight without armor, one who displayed his vulnerability as proud as his royal standard. I'd been foolish to take his humanity for granted, to walk all over his hospitality and concern. Hopefully, Oliver would find someone else far worthier than me.

"Anything wrong?" Oliver sighed.

I shook my head, embarrassed. God, did he think that I only visited when I was upset?

"No, why?"

He shrugged. He shuffled past me, roughly bumping into my side. He settled for an armchair, his legs sprawled out before him. He seemed already bored with the conversation. My joy began to deflate. Scenes from the wedding rushed back, a whirlwind montage like an arrow to the gut. In my journey to reconcile with Fred, I'd deeply hurt Oliver. Really, there weren't any valid excuses for my behavior. The only reasonable thing I could do was show Oliver the depth of my remorse.

Actions, just as much as words, could get you in trouble. This I'd learned the hard way. It seems that adulthood is nothing but adolescence in clever disguise. Because honestly, how is this any different from the days at Hogwarts? How is this muddied love triangle dissimilar from whispered promises and blushing cheeks across the breakfast table?

Do we ever grow out of the childish antics of youth? Are we ever able to abandon our cherished habits, our signature kill tactics? It seems to me that we're all heartbreakers and we cultivate this skill during the long days of books and balls and folded notes. Talent melts into custom; we've got the deed down pat like a seasoned murderer.

I followed him, standing in front of him, uneasy and ready to bolt. He critically peered at me through heavy eyelashes, hands curled on each armrest. He sat like a judge; his presence was even more intimidating than his personality.

"Oliver, look. I know this was probably a dumb idea coming here…but I made Arsenal. And I wanted you to know. I owe you…so much for your support and your help. And your friendship."

I tried to censor myself. I attempted to shade the reality of our shaky situation. I don't know if this heightened his irritation.

"Congratulations. I-…I'm proud of you, Angelina."

I gazed at Oliver. He met my bewilderment with a faltering smile. He struggled with his anger and his genuine gratification.

"That means a lot to me," I softly admitted.

The smile deepened, though he didn't make a move to stand. It would take time for the wounds to heal and the scars would serve as reminders of my past transgressions. It would be awhile before we could look at one another and recall a conversation without a kiss. But I was willing to wait.

"I guess I'll see you around?" I said, more so of a question than a statement.

Oliver sighed. The smile vanished.

"I hope so," he quietly confirmed. He glanced away.

I crouched down, forcing him to meet my steady gaze. I gently placed my hands over his, disregarded the hurt that infiltrated my system upon feeling the stiffening of his fingers. He could have spat in my face and I wouldn't have protested. His apathy was the price to pay, my burden to lug. I'd spent too much time making mistakes. Now was the opportune moment to set them right.

"I couldn't have done this without you."

As I felt the familiar sensation of Apparation, I realized that his indifference deemed partly false. We were both suffering. Yet, we apprehended that time was the only remedy for our catastrophe.

When I got home, I knew I wasn't alone. I cautiously headed into my bedroom, body tightly wound. I bit my lip, smothering the urge to cry out in surprise. His face was drawn and he paced around the bedroom. He'd always seemed more like a boy than a man, but with one look, he'd shed the glitz of adolescence for the ball and chain of responsibility.

"Angel! Sorry for just popping in like this, but I had to let you know," he immediately justified.

"I've got some news too," I blurted.

"Really? Oh well, go ahead."

Obviously, his resolve to deliver the information couldn't beat his impulse to postpone.

"I made the Arsenal team!"

His stony sobriety crumpled, his features brightened, and I was flying into his arms because it was the only thing to do, the right thing to do. I pressed my nose into the collar of his shirt and inhaled a wave of cinnamon and the trace of smoke. His hands hovered in the air and then settled on my lower back. His touch was natural, like an artist smoothing out the imperfections in a beloved sculpture.

This was the boy that evolved into a man, who I used to race on my broomstick, the wind licking our cheeks, my heart thudding against my chest. This was my first love, my last love, the only one who could make me laugh and cry and hate him and want him and need him with a wink and a smile.

"That's wonderful, love. I knew you could do it," he whispered.

I shut my eyes, burrowing my face into his neck. There was nothing to hold us back this time…except…

"I'm so happy," I replied. It was corroboration of what I wanted to feel. His hands traveled up my back and then to my face. He tenderly kissed my lips. He recoiled and kissed the tip of my nose. With that, he removed his grip, stepping back a few inches.

"Lavender and I are getting married."

I gasped, choking on nothing but air and the sharp punch of betrayal.

"Wh-"

"It's the right thing to do."

"Fred, you can't be serious."

I grabbed his wrist.

"I am. And you're the one that told me to take some responsibility! I love you Angel, you know that. But sometimes, love isn't enough. I don't want this child to grow up without a father. Family _is_ important to me. With the war…everyday I saw people lose their lives. I saw brothers lose sisters, daughters without mothers…it was terrible."

"But she's not pregnant!" I argued.

"How can she not be pregnant? I've dropped her off at the clinic for the past week or so. She showed me the ultrasound."

I sighed, dropping his wrist.

"Well, then it's a fake. Alicia and I followed her-"

"You what?"

"-And she's not pregnant. She's putting on a show. Once you leave, she goes to Seamus Finnegan's house. She's a liar and a cheat and I'm not going to stand by and watch you throw away your life for some…some tramp!" I vivaciously shouted.

Fred was silent. I could hear him breathing. I studied the rise and fall of his chest. The walls he'd constructed for protection disintegrated and relief spread from the tips of his fingers to the tips of his toes. As soon as this catharsis bloomed, it died. He held my hand, though relented from gripping too tight.

"Lina, please. Let's not make this any harder than it needs to be."

"I'm serious! I saw it with my own two eyes. She's lying! Don't you believe me?" I shrilly demanded.

He squeezed my hand, weary and weathered. When I felt his mouth on mine, I tugged on the back of his head, forcing him to move closer. My intensity caught him off guard; he couldn't close his heart. He responded with equal aggression and my stomach wrapped around itself, winding like a cobra. I was supposed to be happy. I was supposed to be fantasizing about beginnings, not plotting ways to avoid endings. I could feel the frustration swelling, crashing like waves and ramming against my sides. I broke away, suppressing an oncoming sob. It was all too much.

"I don't want to do this either, you know. But you keep getting in the way," he hoarsely teased.

"Fred, I swear. You've got to believe me. You've got to."

"We might move. After the wedding? I don't think it'd be a good idea to stick around. It's hard enough knowing you're close by. It'd be even worse to run into you."

"If I could prove it to you, would you call it off?" I desperately wondered.

"Naturally," he breezily entertained, still unable to believe my conjecture. He brushed a stray lock of hair away from my face, stealing another hasty kiss.

"Merlin, I really shouldn't be doing this. I'm practically a married man," he sarcastically chastised.

"Not yet," I corrected.

He sighed and nodded. He started towards the kitchen, pausing in the doorframe.

"I should get going. Mind if I have a cup of tea before I'm off?"

I fumbled towards the door, hopelessly blinded by the need to please.

"Of course. Just come into the kitchen."

He sat on a stool, elbows on the counter. He watched as I poured water into two mugs. I could still taste his kiss. And he didn't complain when I took my time, sluggishly adding the milk and sugar, walking to him with the tiniest of possible steps.


	16. With Or Without You

**June 29**

**

* * *

**

**The London Aquarium**

* * *

It's only been a couple of days, but it feels like I haven't spoken to Fred in ages. When he left my apartment earlier in the week, we didn't kiss goodbye. He moved in to kiss me, you see, so I kind of back away. That whole Lavender business had totally put my head on backwards, so I didn't need another reason to feel even more screwed up. I haven't had the energy to send a note over to his flat or pop over to the shop. Call it self-pity, call it pure stupidity, but I'm tired of setting myself up for disappointment. If I'm going to properly erase Fred, or at least the memory of our relationship, there's no use in dwelling in the past. It's not something I particularly wish to do, but it's a necessary evil. If I'm ever going to get over the bloke, then I need a clean break.

We're not meant to be and this is a fact I've got to accept sooner, rather than later. Love doesn't conquer all, right? This is the real world, after all, and even magic can't win against pure and simple Fate.

After work, I decided to head over to the aquarium. There's just something about seeing the fish cut through the water that soothes me, for the time being. They seem so content to live within their tank, darting and whizzing through the coral and the plants, even if the designated surroundings are artificial. They've learned to deal with their cell, learned to bloke out the tourists' eyes and the hundreds of grubby fingers that leave their imprint on the glass. They're on display for a daily parade of strangers and yet, they've managed to accept their captivity. Or who knows? Maybe they don't even realize that they've been transported from their natural homes and are perfectly at ease. However, I doubt fish are this dense.

I like to stay in the exhibits that are below ground, the ones that show the bottom of the tanks. There's a bench right in the center of everything. I can sit here for hours, studying the fish as they swim back and forth. The rest of the world seems to fade away and the noise of my surroundings transforms into a dull whisper. The day leaks by as I remain in my spot, the early afternoon blending into twilight. It's here that I really stop and contemplate our situation and the events of the past week. How did we ever get to this point? According to the rumor mill, Lavender and Fred aren't even having the wedding around here. I reckon that Lavender wouldn't want me to show, but I couldn't go anyway.

Lately, I've been seeking solace in the past. Memories of our schooldays flood my mind and I struggle to remember that I'm living in an ever-changing present, one that will not stop and wait for an idle dreamer. I remember the Yule Ball. Fred shouting across the common room, my face heating up with surprise, accepting his invitation to be his date. I remember dancing with him, our cheeks pressed together, my heart pounding and my legs shaking. I'd been delirious with rapture; the Yule Ball had been a reward after the preceding events of that year. It'd been one of ups and downs, where Fred and I constantly bickered in order to evade facing our true feelings. I remember wanting to kiss him so badly that I thought I'd jump right out of my skin. We'd take two steps forward and then one giant leap back. I thought I'd go crazy, attempting to win a mind game I'd never wanted to play. I was as much in love with him as I am today.

I am not giving up the fight, but simply surrendering to the comfort of better days, where I can romanticize trivial events, magnify and rewind the nostalgia of being seventeen and restless. Sometimes, I miss those days even more than I miss Fred himself. I remember when he finally up and left Hogwarts, watching as he twirled around on his broom, grinning and bursting through the front doors, consumed by the fire of a young man ready to burn away his youth.

I've never felt so alone.

* * *

**June 30****

* * *

**

**Home**

* * *

I couldn't sleep. Insomnia is a malady I developed later in life, right before the War started. I'd lay in bed, back rigid, blood-shot eyes boring into the ceiling. I refused to shut my eyes, because as soon as I did, I'd begin to envision bloody battlefields and mangled bodies, most of their faces blurred and indecipherable. Each time I closed my eyes, I'd feel the darkness of the night wrap its icy hands around my throat and my heart would spike with anxiety. I'd think about life and how you could watch it ooze through your fingers, feel the oncoming sledgehammer of death. I was certain that something terrible would happen to Holden or my parents or Fred. The paranoia blossomed before Fred enlisted. At night, I'd roll onto my side and snuggle closer into his embrace. I'd squeeze him, just to prove that he was really there. Sometimes, while he was fast asleep, I'd flip on the light and study his features, searching for a soothing lullaby that would lull me to sleep. 

I simultaneously craved and feared sleep. Soon, I was drifting between being awake and being unconscious, hopping between the fuzzy conditions of reality and the Technicolor horrors of nightmare. Insomnia caused me to become stuck between two worlds, one where I was neither fully living nor really dead.

Naturally, when the fighting stopped, it became easier and easier to fall into a slumber. However, I don't think it's ever been fully cured. How do I know? Well, last night (or is it this morning) proved that I hadn't shaken it. I had the brilliant idea of writing a letter to Fred, something to purge my feelings and etch them onto paper. One of those confessional, things-I've-never-said-but-should've-ordeals. I thought, yes, this is why I'm having trouble getting to sleep. There's just too much floating around my head, taking up space. Once I set a quill to parchment, everything would come flowing out of me like a wild river and I would be liberated.

It took me forty-five minutes and this is all I came up with:

_Come back to me._

* * *

**July 1****

* * *

**

**Alicia's Flat**

* * *

Alicia Spinnet may be one of the craziest people I know, but thank goodness she's my best mate. This afternoon, she sent me a rather belligerent message, insisting that I pop over to the flat as soon as possible. I'd been stuffing my face with a box of chocolates and listening to every maudlin pop ballad I could scavenge, so this was a prime opportunity and excuse to put the chocolates down and join the real world. 

Alicia held up the invitation as though it were packaged head lice. I watched, slightly amused, sipping my tea. She paced around the kitchen, waving the manila envelope, faced contorted into fury. George was at the shop, which thankfully relieved me of a very awkward situation.

"Who does she think she is, sending me an invitation like we're old chums? Ridiculous, I tell you, absolutely ridiculous!" she screeched.

"I can't believe they've organized everything so quickly," I murmured.

"Fred told George that Lavender wants to get married as soon as possible, before she starts to _show_. Ha! What a load of bull. You know what it is Lina, she knows that the longer she waits, the more Fred will hesitate. I know he wants to do the right thing, but he's too in love with you to take the plunge so quickly."

I shrugged.

"What's done is done."

"Well, I'm not going!"

"Leesh, you've got to go. George is going, isn't he? And you're his girlfriend. So it'd be rude not to show up," I reasoned.

Alicia tossed the invitation to the floor, practically quaking with bottled anger. It was surprising, really, as she was more upset than I was.

Normally, I would be the one flying off the handle and Alicia would be the one offering a heavy dosage of rationality. Then again, my tranquil state could have been due to my two-hour crying session the previous night. Who knows? All I knew is that I'd reached a state of comfortable apathy, one which was being threatened by my best friend's hysterics. Being numb was certainly a hell of a lot better than drowning in misery. I'd be damned if Alicia tried to shake me out of my artificial disinterest.

"I don't bloody care! You're my best mate and we both know that this entire wedding is a lark. Fred doesn't love Lavender, no matter what he says. George knows it, even if he hasn't openly said anything. I know it, you know it, for Merlin's sake, anyone with eyes could see it!"

I sighed, peering into my cup. My emotions were beginning to unthaw. This could head into dangerous territory if we weren't careful.

"At this point, does it really matter? Fred's stubborn. He's too distracted by being noble. And as much as it hurts, I'm kind of glad that the git's still got morals. There's nothing we can do, Leesh."

"Angelina! You're not serious, are you?" Alicia demanded.

"Yes. And if you're going to continue talking about Fred, do you have any alcohol? Some fire whiskey would really go great with the tea," I replied.

"This is outrageous. You're going to give up, just like that?"

"What the hell do you want me to do? Crash the wedding?"

Alicia stopped pacing. Her mouth curved into a grin that bordered on maniacal. I should have been terrified of that loony smile, but oddly enough, I found it quite endearing.

"Darling, you took the words right out of my mouth."

* * *

**July 4****

* * *

**

**Ministry of Magic**

**_

* * *

_**

Couldn't sleep again last night. I was playing an awfully boring game of wizard's chess against myself, when I heard pecking at my window. Confused, I shuffled over to investigate. It turned out to be an owl with a piece of rolled-up parchment in its mouth. Utterly mystified, I let the owl into the flat. I watched as it swooped around the room in wide arcs, issuing three short hoots. It dropped the parchment on my bed and then swiftly zoomed out the window, blending into the night. Unraveling the scroll, I read the words and slowly sat down, dumbfounded.

* * *

_Angelina, _

_Next week I'll be a married man. After writing those words, I can't help but reread them. I can't help but feel as though I'm making the wrong decision. We grew up together and as the years went by, I couldn't help but want to grow old together. Lavender is in the next room, fast asleep, but I've never felt so alone. Each time I try to shut my eyes, I think about you. You're only a few minutes across the city and I miss you. I swear Lina, even when we were fighting, I was happier than I am now. _

_I'm confused and anxious and I know that by sending this letter, I'm only putting the both of us through hell. This entire situation is just so fucked up and I never meant to hurt you. But I can't abandon Lavender or our son. I don't know how I feel about Lavender, but I've never doubted how I feel about you. I fell in love when we were eleven and I've been falling ever since. As the wedding gets closer and closer, it's harder and harder to get to sleep. My head is clouded with all of the things I should have said, all of the things I should have done. I don't expect you to come to the wedding. In fact, it might be better if you don't. _

_Please don't think this was easy. I know I love you because this hurts. _

_Yours always, _

_Fred_

After reading his letter, I knew that Alicia was right. I had to crash that wedding.


	17. Take Me Back To The Start

A/N: I'm so sorry that this took so long to write! But this year's been extremely chaotic and I haven't had any time to sit down and write. Anyway, this is the last chapter. I hope you like it!

* * *

**July 8**

* * *

The wedding was to be held in the countryside, just outside of Stratford. Lavender decided to hold the ceremony on a government-owned estate. The estate once belonged to an extremely wealthy family, whose great-great-grandfather had stocks in the company responsible for the Nimbus broomstick. The estate consisted of the main building, which was a classically beautiful mansion, a garden, a man-made maze, and a smaller guest house. Though it lacked its former glory, it wasn't hard to see why the building had formerly been the site of lavish parties and extravagant soirées.

The guest list was smaller than Katie and Lee's wedding, though not quite small enough to be considered miniscule or quaint. An hour before the wedding, Alicia and I sat in my flat, going over our plan.

Naturally, Alicia was the master mind behind this scheme and I was having serious doubts about our ability to pull it off. Of course, on paper it had sounded fine. But then again, I'd been a little tipsy, so I hadn't been thinking too hard about the rationality of it all. Alicia was already dressed and ready to go, decked out in a yellow, ankle-length dress that emphasized the honey-colored streaks in her hair.

"Ok. So. Run it by me again," I demanded.

"George is meeting me there, because he's the best man. You and I will share the port key, which will take us to the front entrance of the mansion. You wait in one of the front rooms, while I go find the bride. Then, when you hear me knocking on the door, you open it and grab Lavender. We temporarily stun her, grab a few of her hairs, and then you switch clothes. You'll use the polyjuice potion I bought at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes."

I nodded, absorbing the information, attempting to be optimistic, though I was already dreading the worst.

"So after that, I go find Fred, tell him that I'm not pregnant and call off the wedding."

Alicia smiled, adrenaline beginning to color her cheeks. On the contrary, I felt sick. I wasn't sure how well everything was going to go or if Fred would even believe me.

"Exactly. And then you and Fred can live happily ever after," she finished.

"But Leesh, what if he doesn't believe me?" I argued.

"Why wouldn't he believe you? Or should I say, Lavender? The information's coming right from the horse's mouth, as they say. I don't think he'll need anymore proof than that. Trust me, he's practically begging for a way out of this. What better reason could he want?"

"I don't know. I'm just-"

"Lina, stop worrying! It's not going to do us any good."

"Look, I'm sorry, but this is something that we could've pulled off at Hogwarts, but we've been out of school for years now."

Alicia sighed and placed two sturdy hands on my shoulders.

"I'm not too sure about a lot of things, but I've always been sure about you and Fred. You guys are soul mates. And usually, I don't believe in all that hoopla. But I'd be stupid to deny that you and Fred are meant to be."

Tears began to trickle from the corners of my eyes. Up until that point, I hadn't realized that I was close to reaching the point of exhaustion. I was tired of keeping up a persona of indifference. I was sick of burying my feelings and trying to forget about my relationship with Fred. Things hadn't changed that much from our days at Hogwarts. Once again, I was stubborn and Alicia had come to my rescue, doing anything in her power to make me see the truth.

"I love him."

"I know, Angelina, I know."

About an hour later, Alicia and I had used the port key to get to the mansion. Guests had begun to arrive; many of them didn't pay us any attention. The mansion looked every inch the elitist's playground, with French doors, thick columns and generous amounts of ivy that laced around the stone surfaces.

Alicia dragged me by the arm, swiftly darting through the front doors and down the hallway. Anyone in our way stood the chance of getting run over, as Alicia was a one-woman wrecking ball. I ducked my head, hoping that no one recognized me. Alicia stopped at the first unlocked door, peered inside and then practically shoved me into the room.

I looked around; we'd ended up in some sort of study room. The musty, velvet curtains had been drawn and blocked out the sunlight. The far right wall was covered by bookshelves that nearly touched the ceiling. All of them were empty. In the center of the room stood a plush loveseat and antique table. Nothing about the furniture seemed genuine or authentic; it had the appearance of seeming deliberate and staged. Alicia double checked the door, making sure it was locked. With a satisfied nod, she tapped her ear, where a tiny earpiece had been nestled.

"Calling Alpha Two, calling Alpha Two, the Eagle has landed."

I began pacing around the room, my stomach jumbled and twisted. Katie's voice squawked back, shrill and equally uneasy.

"What? Alicia, is that you?"

Alicia groaned, shooting me an apologetic grimace. I shrugged and shuffled over to one of the windows. I pushed back one of the curtains and watched the rest of the people arrive.

"Course it's me, who else did you think it was?" she hissed.

"Well, I'm sorry, but you said something about an Eagle and I-"

"It's code, you dolt!"

"Oh. Well, why didn't you say so?"

"That's the whole point of code. In case someone is listening, they won't be able to figure out who it is."

"But…why would someone else be listening?" Katie asked, truly confused.

"I don't know!"

"I'm so lost right now."

"Kates, just shut up for a moment, will you? Look, Lina and I just got here. We're waiting in some library or something. Where are you?" Alicia demanded.

"Oh, I'm out back. Lee's around here somewhere."

"Where's Lavender?"

"She's in the back of the mansion. In one of the other rooms, getting ready."

"Ok. Is there any way you can get her to come out? We don't have much time."

"I…I guess so. Give me a few minutes and then I'll get back to you," Katie offered.

"Well, don't take all night. We've got a wedding to stop!" Alicia urged.

"Right. Look, give me ten or fifteen minutes."

There was a hiss of static and Katie turned her earpiece off, presumably to go hunt down Lavender. I sighed and started to pace, feeling the contents of my stomach practically jump into my throat. My palms and the back of my neck were damp with sweat and I feared that I'd be paralyzed with illness before I even got outside.

"Merlin, Angie, would you stop that pacing? You're gonna burn a hole in the carpet!" Alicia demanded.

"Look, I'm sorry, but how can I not worry?"

Alicia walked in my direction and grabbed my shoulders, forcing me to look her in the eye. I couldn't return her smile, no matter how hard I tried. The voices of the increasing number of guests seemed to surge through the very walls and the windows, soft laughter tinkling like shards of fallen glass.

"It's going to be fine. Ok?"

"How can you be so sure? Leesh, I don't know if this is such a good idea. What if something goes wrong?"

Alicia groaned.

"Nothing's going to go wrong. If we just stick to the plan, then we're golden. We've got this in bag."

All of a sudden, the door creaked open. Alicia and I both whipped in the direction of the noise, shock coloring my face, annoyance warping Alicia's previous expression of confident determination. The intruder's face seemed familiar but I couldn't pinpoint a name. I think it was one of the Patil twins.

She frowned, utterly perplexed. Her rose-colored dress accented in the natural blush of her cheeks, although it definitely could have been one size bigger. However, even if I had wanted to ask, there wouldn't have been time.

Out of nowhere, Alicia whipped out her wand and uttered a spell. It all happened so fast that for a minute, I had no idea what the heck was going on.

The Patil Girl fell to floor, flat as a board, her forehead clonking against the floor. Alicia calmly walked over to the door and shut it, stuffing her wand back in her handbag.

"Wh-wh-"

"A simple stunning spell. She'll be fine."

"But what-how?" I stuttered.

Alicia shrugged, as though she went around stunning innocent people every day.

"I wasn't going to bring my wand, but I figured it wouldn't hurt."

"But why?" I demanded.

"She's one of Lavender's mates. We wouldn't want her squawking to Lavender, now would we?" Alicia devilishly insisted.

I couldn't help but burst out laughing. My anxiety and surprise finally hit my system like a pound of hot sugar.

"What's so funny?"

"You. Me. Everything. God, what next? What other hoops are we going to have to jump through?" I wondered.

"Not too many more, I hope," Alicia grumbled.

"This is ridiculous," I said through breathy giggles.

Alicia raised an eyebrow, smirking.

"Nobody said love had to make sense."

"Oh jeez, here we go. Since when did you become such a sentimentalist?" I teased.

"I've always been a sentimentalist. But situations like these allow me to show my true colors," Alicia replied.

"Oh brother. Let's not get fancy, all right Shakespeare?"

Suddenly, there was the crackling of antenna static and Katie's voice chirped out of Alicia's ear.

"Hey, Leesh-"

"USE THE CODE NAME!" Alicia snapped.

"All right, all right. Don't get your bloody knickers in a twist."

"Look, we went over this. Follow the plan, Katie."

"I am! Christ…Alpha One. Come in, this is Alpha Two."

"Alpha One, this is Alpha Two. What's the status of the Target?" Alicia questioned.

I watched, half in awe but mostly embarrassed for Alicia, who seemed to be taking this entire espionage deal a bit too seriously. However, I was extremely grateful that Alicia Spinnet was my best friend and not Lavender Brown's.

"Status of the-Leesh, can you just speak English?"

"Where's Lavender now? Have you been able to get her away from everyone?"

"Oh! Yeah. She should be opening the door any minute now," Katie cheerfully said.

No sooner had she said this and the door banged open for a second time, revealing the frazzled bride in all her white and lacy glory. Her dress was a monstrous concoction of ivory frills and bows, something that I'd never think about wearing, yet appeared perfect for someone of Lavender's taste. Her hair had been curled and was pinned back with a simple clip. She'd applied too much lipstick; baby pink coated her mouth like leftover clumps of cotton candy. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of me.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

"Stopping your wedding."

With that, Alicia got out her wand and stunned the bride. She toppled to the floor like an overly frosted wedding cake. I snorted and Alicia flicked the door shut with her wand.

"Hurry up, let's get this show on the road," Alicia prompted.

"Right."

I swooped down upon the slumbering bride and then plucked out a few strands of hair. Alicia took out the bottle of polyjuice from her handbag and tossed it to me. I barely caught it, cracked the seal and then added Lavender's hairs. The potion gurgled and spat up a few green bubbles.

"Oh God, it reeks," I moaned.

"Hurry up, Angie!"

Shutting my eyes, I downed the potion, almost gagging. Within seconds, a wave of nausea rocked my gut, smashing against my insides. I put a hand to my mouth, downright sick. Woozily, I began to slide onto the floor, my body moving out of its own force. Muted colors and florescent lights swam before my eyes and I reached out for Alicia, holding back bile at the sound of my bones cracking and transforming. My skin felt like hot wax and it seemed to bubble like lava.

"Alicia, what the hell is happening?!" I screeched.

"Hold on, Angie, it's almost done," she patiently soothed.

A few seconds later, the sensation was over.

"Alicia?"

"It's done! C'mon, we gotta change your clothes."

About five minutes later, Lavender lay on the floor only in her bra and underwear, a scowl on her face, clashing with her nauseatingly bright lipstick. Picking up the sides of the dress, I threw open the door and rushed out of the library, in search of Fred.

As I was searching for Fred, someone grabbed my arm.

"Seamus!"

Desperately, he pulled me behind an overgrown bush. Without another word, he hungrily pressed his mouth to mine. I squealed, eyes wide open. I pulled back and you could audibly hear the smack of our lips parting. Seamus latched onto my hand, attempting to bring me closer to him.

"Look, Lav, I know you told me not to come, but I couldn't help it. I'm in love with you! And I can't let you marry Fred."

"Well, I-"

"I know I don't have a lot of money right now, but it doesn't matter."

"Seamus, I can't talk right now. I need to find Fred."

"Lav, there's still time to call this thing off. You don't have to do this. I told you, I don't care if the kid is Fred's. I'll love it anyway, as it were my own," he protested.

"Yeah, see, here's the thing. I'm not pregnant."

"Wh-"

I threw him a crooked smile.

"Yeah, whoops! False alarm."

I broke away and headed in the opposite direction, almost tripping on my heels. Irritated, I stopped and flung off the heels and then ran bare foot, only one goal on my mind. I was about to head into the maze, when Lavender's mom stopped me.

"Lavender, ducky, what in the world are you doing out here?" Mrs. Brown demanded.

"I uh...oh wow. This isn't the restroom," I replied, shrilly laughing.

Mrs. Brown took a step closer, placing the back of her hand on my forehead.

"Are you feeling ok?"

"I'm fine! Really," I passionately assured.

Skeptically, Mrs. Brown gave me a little shove towards the main house.

"Well, you'd better get going. The ceremony's going to start in a few minutes."

I nodded and started to head in that direction.

"Right, Mrs.- Mom. Right, Mom. Absolutely right."

"Are you sure you're feeling ok? Did you take too many Midols? I told you, it takes awhile before it kicks in."

"Mom, I'm fine. I'm going to get my veil. I forgot it inside."

I hurried away from Mrs. Brown, knowing that if I started to run, it'd look even more suspicious. After wandering around for twenty minutes and ignoring the bewildered stares of the guests and nearly knocking down Dean Thomas, I found Fred. He was in the guest house, looking unbelievably handsome in his tux. Hands in his pockets, he whistled to himself, gazing towards the garden.

"Fred."

"Lavender? What're you doing? Isn't it bad luck or something for me to see you before the ceremony?"

My throat felt dry. Damn. This was going to be harder than I thought. I walked forward and cleared my throat.

"Listen, Fred, this is a big mistake."

"What-"

"I can't go through with this," I interrupted.

He grabbed my hands, gazing down at me with heartbreaking panic and incomprehension. Outside, I could hear the orchestra tuning.

"What's wrong?"

I slipped my hands out of his warm grip and looked past him, stomping out the slightest pang of guilt.

"I'm not pregnant."

Dead silence.

"You're not pregnant."

I shook my head, managing a smile that intended to be sweet but only come across as mocking. Like a slap in the face, the life reappeared in Fred's ashen expression like a balloon pumped with paint exploding on asphalt.

"No, I'm not pregnant. It was-it was a big misunderstanding. And I'm sorry but, I can't let you go through with this. It'd be a big lie."

"Why the bloody hell did you wait this long to tell me?"

"Well, I mean, uh. See. Everything was just happening so fast and I didn't really have time to think. I only found out a few days ago," I fibbed.

"Then why didn't you tell me as soon as you found out?"

I let out a nervous giggle, which was sharp and screechy even to my own ears. Fred took a step forward, absolutely livid. He looked like he would have hit me, if he didn't have the manners or control.

"I don't know. Um, I would've told you yesterday, but well, there was a crisis at the house and my Aunt Tabby had a little trouble with a hair-growing spell and ended up looking like Big Foot. So you know, uh, I had to be there. For emotional support and all," I rambled.

"Great. Just fucking great."

Defeated, he slumped to the ground, biting down on his back molars.

"I'm sorry Fred, I really am."

Just as I was about to leave, Fred's strained voice stopped me.

"Lavender. You ever been in love?"

Without turning around, I whispered, "Yes."

With that, I walked out of the guest house and shakily started towards the main house. I purposely avoided clusters of people, keeping my head down, dismissing the eager calls of Lavender's guests.

Just as I reached the library doors, I felt the uncomfortable tingle of metamorphosis. I knew that I had only a few minutes until I would change back into myself. I hoped that Lavender was still in the room, silent and stunned. When I finally got back to the library, Alicia was talking to Katie.

"Well, how did it go?" Katie wondered.

"Fine, fine. But where's the port key?"

"Right here," Alicia said, holding up an obnoxiously-bright compact mirror.

Frantically, I located my clothes, which had been carelessly thrown into a pile next to the unnaturally stiff Lavender. I stripped out of the wedding gown, almost breaking the zipper and then shimmied into my T-shirt and jeans.

"Wait, where are Lavender's shoes?" Katie asked.

"Oh, somewhere outside."

"Angelina!"

"What? I had to take them off, Katie. I nearly fell on my face. You try running about in heels and then tell me if you can manage," I snapped.

"Christ, I'd better go find those heels," Katie muttered.

Katie glanced at Lavender and then dashed out of the room, the fabric of her dress swishing behind her like tissue paper.

"Ready?" Alicia prompted.

"Ready as I'll ever be," I confirmed, slipping on my other shoe.

Alicia tossed me the port key.

"Think you can handle the damage control?" I questioned, jerking my head at Lavender.

"Yeah, no problem. Go ahead, go home. I'm sure Fred's waiting for you," she ushered.

"Leesh."

"Yes?"

Alicia, who had begun redressing Lavender, gazed up. I bent down and hugged her tightly, knowing that Alicia and Katie were the closest to sisters that I could ever have.

"Thank you."

She patted my back.

"Don't mention it. It's what I'm here for."

He was sitting on my bed when I got home. He'd taken off his jacket and it lay beside him. I shouldn't have been surprised, but I was. I dropped the port key on the floor, speechless. Rooted in place, I stared at Fred, drinking in his features as though it was the first day of Hogwarts and I'd just stepped on the train.

Without a word, he met my astonished expression, his mouth lazily curling into a grin, both relief and exhaustion filling his eyes. For a split second, he was both the boyish prankster I'd known and loved in our school days and the man I always knew he could be and would be. What was there left to say?

Every crack, every hole, every fissure that'd been pounded into my heart over the last few days vanished. My thoughts were rearranged and like an abstract painting, many of the pieces and sentences didn't fit and didn't make any sense. Hours could have passed and I wouldn't have known. He stood up and walked over to me, locks of red hair falling in his eyes. Fred loosely wrapped his arms around my waist. Slowly, tenderly, he kissed my forehead, the tip of my nose, each cheek and then finally, my lips.

"Hey, you."

"Hullo."

"Are you busy right now?"

"No. Why?"

He kissed me again and I let my hands disappear in the untamable wildness of his hair. Unlike his initial kiss, this one was nearly a declaration of battle, an unspoken challenge, a survival of the fittest. The air left my lungs and blood throbbed between my ears, but I refused to pull away until the last possible moment.

His husky voice vibrated against my skin as he kissed my neck.

"You feel like getting married?"

"Why Fred Weasley, are you proposing?"

"I'll take that as a yes."

No more than two hours later, I would become Mrs. Angelina Johnson Weasley.


End file.
